Date: Mon, 31 Dec 2001 16:07:24 -0800 (PST)
From: Brown Pete
Subject: "The New Method Of Carriage Pulling"
THE NEW METHOD OF CARRIAGE PULLING
By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Author's note: I ran into this gorgeous looking guy
when my flight from Australia made an unscheduled stop
with a mechanical problem in the Gulf. We were put up
in a hotel, and I went off to find the exercise room.
This guy was in there, working away, and he had the
best looking body I have ever seen.... In the showers,
I couldn't help noticing an unusual mark on his
stomach, and asked him about it. One thing led to
another, and as we lay in bed later together later
that night, he told me about himself.
In the morning, when I wanted to know more, he had
gone. The reception people said that he was an
employee of a rich Sheikh from close by, and sometimes
came and stayed when he had business to transact -
they said he "had been expecting a shipment", but had
checked out early as it had arrived. I now wonder
exactly what that shipment was.... But here's what he
told me, as well as I can remember it!
Was he really telling me his life story, or just
spinning me an elaborate tale? Certainly the detail
with which he embellished his story was impressive.
But it did keep us both sexually charged - in between
fucks, I was quickly erect again as Steve's story was
revealed to me, and this may have been his objective.
I'll leave you, the reader, to judge. For myself, I'm
now much more careful when I consider going to
meetings with men I don't know, or accepting offers of
new work!
Steve's Autobiography, as told to Pete Brown.
I was really excited when I was offered the job in the
Gulf. There aren't many luxury sports complexes out
there, and not that many jobs in them for English guys
- especially not if, as like me, you've only just left
university. Of course I did do well on the Sports
Management degree course at Loughborough, but, in
truth, I'm not all that academic and I think a lot of
the reason I did well there was because I played sport
- almost every sport - moderately well. I swam, did
athletic events like the 5K, played in the first XV
for rugger, and was a pretty nifty performer in the
gymnastic events that really require good muscular
development and control - the horse, parallel bars,
and the rings.
I'd left there at 22 with my degree, a really fit body
(my 6'4" of muscle had never been in better shape, as
I'd had so much time, and truly excellent facilities,
to devote to sport), and not much hope of getting a
good job - most of the council-owned sports centres
were cutting back on recruitment, and there are not
that many private clubs in England that want to employ
a 22-year old - they like their trainers and exercise
leaders to be a bit older.
So when I'd applied for this job at the sports complex
in this tiny place in the Gulf I'd never heard of and
had to locate on a large-scale map (it turned out to
be a tiny sheikhdom just to the South of Abu Dhabi) it
was without much hope. I was amazed when I got a
phone call almost the next day, inviting me to an
interview at a large London hotel.
I hitched down there and crashed out the night before
on the floor of a friend's flat - he was one of the
lucky ones on my course who had only been doing it
"for fun", and his parents were well off and were
insisting he got a job in the City. He wasn't even
up when I left for the interview - I peeked into his
bedroom to say "goodbye", but he was asleep - sprawled
across the bed, face down, face in his arms. The
sheets had almost slipped off him, and I could see his
naked back and ass. I blushed and backed out quickly
- even though you're used to seeing friends naked all
the time in the gym and so on t University, seeing
them naked in this "domestic" setting is quite
different.
The interview was a breeze. They asked me almost
nothing, except, curiously, about my family
background, and that was easy - my mom had died when I
was 12, and dad had been killed in a car crash in my
first year at Loughborough, so I had no close family.
And they wanted me to start almost immediately.
Things were looking good when my tickets arrived -
they'd paid for business class, not back of the plane!
But there was a note cautioning me to take only
minimal luggage, as most of the clothes I needed in
the complex were to be provided for me. So I was in
excellent spirits when we took off from Heathrow, and
sipped the free champagne: this was the life.
There was even a big limo to meet me - and I had no
problems with customs or anything, as I was met at the
door of the plane and whisked through some sort of
"VIP" channel, with the customs and immigration people
laughing and joking as they exchanged rapid Arabic
with the guy who had met me.
I looked at the scenery as it went past outside the
window - it looked so very hot and dry out there,
although the aircon in the limo kept it fine inside.
We went through a number of scrubby-looking Arab towns
with all the stuff I expected to see there - donkeys,
carts, general poverty and squalor, then through miles
and miles of absolutely empty desert of sand, rock,
and the occasional small shrub that looked as if it
was really struggling to survive. I thought it would
be hard to survive out there - without shade or water,
I didn't think a man could last more than a couple of
hours.
After about two hours we eventually pulled in through
a big set of double doors into a huge courtyard. I
must say it didn't look a bit like a luxury sports
club, as the only people you could see around were
uniformed guards cradling sub machine guns! My guide
said "We're here", and before I could ask him where
"here" was, had got out. So I got out, too, and went
to look for my bags - but the guards came over to me,
there was a lot of shouting, and I found myself being
led off with them roughly pushing and shoving me, and
much pointing of their guns. What the fuck was
happening?
The cell I was thrown in was completely basic -
lavatory in one corner, narrow, hard bunk down one
side, concrete walls and floor except for the front,
which was made of bars and which had the barred door
set into it.
I stood there shouting at them, and demanding to see
the British Consul. But I was just completely
ignored, and after a few minutes I decided I should
conserve my energy and just sat there on the edge of
the bunk.
It must have been a good two hours before anything
happened, and then a distinguished-looking Arab guy
came in and stood in front of the bars. I started to
shout at him, because I was angry by now, and demanded
to be let out, or at least to be able to use a phone.
But he just looked at me, and waited until I had
burned myself out.
Then he said "Now listen, and listen well, as I'm only
going to tell you this once. There is no job at a
sports complex - there never was. But that advert is
an excellent way of attracting men like you - young
and fit, with good-looking, well-trained bodies. And
the interview helps us find those of you with few ties
in England - no parents or other close relatives, just
down from University, so you've lost contact with your
friends from school, and your university friends
expect to lose contact as you all go to find jobs."
"So now you're here. And no one cares. And, if they
do, the British Consul will find that a young man did
indeed arrive at the airport, but on searching your
luggage drugs were found so you never even entered the
country - we didn't want to cause an international
incident, so we deported you instantly. As you know,
if you had gone back to England, there's no check kept
on arrivals of citizens into the UK."
"You are going to work, but in a way you never
thought. I am an enslaver, and I have been
commissioned to find a man like you - early twenties,
good body, tall, and with dark blonde hair. My client
will, I think, be delighted that we managed to attract
you, and I will get a handsome commission."
"You're a slave now. So start acting like one. Get
naked, so I can inspect you better."
"Don't be so fucking stupid! This has gone far
enough!", I shouted back. "There isn't such a thing
as slavery any more. I'm certainly not going to strip
in front of you. Get me a phone so I can call the
British Consul!"
"Think on, slave, about your position. There is
indeed slavery here - although the law does not
explicitly allow it, as we need to be concerned about
the UN grants we get and they would not countenance
those sorts of provisions in our constitution. Our
Sheikh is one of the largest slave owners in the
country and so there is de facto continuance of the
old slavery laws. Your owner has absolute power over
you. He can order you to be punished in any way he
sees fit, from starvation, through to beatings of any
severity, mutilation, and even death."
"You are in this cell, and I have absolute power over
you anyway. I could order my guards in here and have
you stripped, but I want this to be a lesson in your
understanding of your new position. So I will give
you your first punishment - a little mild starvation."
And with that, he went out, and I was left alone.
After four hours, I was worried - there was a tap in
the cell, so I could drink. But I was hungry - I
hadn't eaten since the plane. I tried shouting, but
no one came.
Four more hours, and still nothing. It was dark
outside now, I could see through the small window high
up in the wall outside my cell. So I lay down on the
bunk, and hoped that I could sleep to forget the
constant rumbling from my stomach.
Dawn was early - about 4 am according to my watch. I
was ravenous when I woke up, and drank a lot of water
to try to fill my stomach. I hated having to sleep in
my clothes, and I could smell that smell of old sweat
coming up from all over me. I'm usually fastidious
about personal cleanliness, and doing so much physical
activity I showered four times a day at least,
normally.
By the time the man appeared again I was so hungry, as
it must have been about 24 hours at least since I last
eat. And, to make matters worse, he stood there with
a big steak sandwich on a plate - the smell of the
meat, and the onions on it, literally made my mouth
water so much I drooled a little.
He just stood there, looking at me, whilst I shouted
again for a phone. All he did was look at me when I
had stopped, and say the two words he had used before:
"Get naked."
I started to shout at him to "Fuck off!" again, and
saw him turn and start to leave. Christ, I thought, he
could leave me here for ever until I starve to death.
So I called out "No.... Wait... "
He turned and looked at me. What else could I do? I
started to unbutton my shirt.
He came back to the bars, and watched as I took my
shirt off. I hated doing this - of course I'm used to
stripping in front of other men, as I did it all the
time at university for all the sport I did. But
actually taking your clothes off when another man is
watching, having ordered you to do it, is something
else! I could feel a blush creeping up from my
shoulders to my neck - sort of a mixture of
embarrassment and anger.
Then I pulled my T-shirt up and over my head, and
dropped it to the floor beside my shirt. I had hoped
that would be enough, but he just stood there watching
and saying nothing. So I stooped down and undid my
shoes and slipped them off, then stood up and
unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans. I turned
around so my back to him as I slipped them to the
floor, and stepped out of them - I don't know why, as
my boxers were covering me anyway, but it just seemed
the thing to do. It seemed easier to be stripping
like this when I didn't have to look at him watching
me.
I stood there in my socks and boxers, and turned
around.
"Push those clothes out of the cell", the Arab said.
I did, and then asked him for the sandwich. He said
nothing, but turned to leave again.
"No, wait! Come back. Please come back!"
He returned and stood looking at me.
"Yes?"
"Look, I've stripped for you. Please let me have
something to eat."
"I thought you were English. Do you not understand
your own language? I commanded you to get naked. You
defied me yesterday by doing nothing. Now you
continue your defiance by standing there in those
socks and shorts."
I could see that there was nothing else to do - sooner
or later, I would have to surrender or starve to
death. So I bent down and pulled off one sock after
another. The Arab watched impassively as I pushed
them out of the cell.
Then with a shrug of resignation, I pushed my thumbs
under the waistband of my boxers and pushed them down
to the floor, stepped out of them, and pushed them,
too, through the bars.
"Good!", the Arab said. "Display yourself properly
now."
"Uh?"
"Shake your dick, idiot! It's been cramped in those
boxers."
So I did that little "flick" on my cock that you
usually do when you take your clothes off - when there
are lots of guys together in the changing room, no one
notices and every one does it. But with the piercing
gaze of the Arab on me, and having been made to
forcibly strip like this, it was extra embarrassing
and I even thought I was going to get a hard on.
"Can I eat now?", I asked, my mouth still full of
saliva from the smell of the steak sandwich.
"Sure!"
And with that the Arab went out, taking my clothes
with him.
I shouted at him to make good his part of the deal -
I'd stripped, hadn't I?
He did return a few minutes later, carrying a
stainless steel bowl containing what looked like a lot
of hard dog biscuits.
"Now listen, slave, and listen well. You don't
bargain with a master - you don't say 'I've taken my
clothes off, now do your part of the bargain'. Slaves
aren't here to bargain, only to obey. You should have
stripped the moment I told you to get naked. For
that, I should really have punished you."
"As it is, I'm being merciful - and anyway I don't
want your flesh damaged before I hand you over to your
new master."
"Here's your food. You don't think slaves get fed on
steak here, do you? This will be your diet from now
on, I expect: almost all masters use it as it's cheap
and easy to serve, and there's no mess, no waste, and
no clearing up afterwards. It's specially formulated
to keep you happy and healthy - well, healthy, at
least - as it contains everything you need in terms of
proteins, carbohydrates, vitamins, minerals.... "
I picked up one of the small one-inch square biscuits
out of the bowl and bit it in half, as you would a
chocolate. It was hard and dry, and crumbs went
everywhere.
"Idiot! Look at the mess you're making. You eat
slave biscuits by putting them whole in your mouth,
then crunching them up. When you've eaten that one,
get down on your knees and clean the floor."
I looked at him, and he looked at me. He knew, I'm
sure, that I was about to tell him to fuck off - now I
had some food, I thought I could hold out until I was
rescued, or something.
"Before you say anything, slave, think on. No one
knows you're here, except for people on my staff, and
they're all experienced enslavers. So you're not
going to get rescued or released. Even if you disobey
me now, we will soon starve you into submission, or,
of course, I could forget about delivering you to your
new master immediately, and simply have you hauled out
of that cell and taken to the flogging chamber."
"In fact, that might be the best thing. I don't know
what your master is planning to do with you, but
obviously you don't have the correct attitude for a
slave yet. It would probably be best for all
concerned if some of that defiance was beaten out of
you now - best for your new master, and, at the end of
the day, best for you! A good hard thrashing upfront
will probably save you from multiple beatings over the
first few months of your enslavement."
"Now, before I order the flogging, show me you
understand your position. Get down on your knees and
clear up those crumbs with your tongue!"
I looked at the Arab in astonishment. Surely he
couldn't mean it? The floor was that type of smooth
concrete that had been painted with a thick paint,
but, even so, it would be harsh on my tongue! But
what other choice did I have? I didn't doubt that he
would have me whipped or something, so I knelt down,
and then started gingerly to lick the floor.
Have you ever tried this? It's actually quite
difficult, as you need to get your head right down and
even then your nose gets in the way. I don't think
it's a practical method of removing the crumbs - I
could have picked them up with my fingers, one by one.
But it certainly does make a man feel servile,
especially as with your head down your ass is right up
in the air. I knew the Arab must be looking at my ass
hole, and at my cock and balls as they swung freely
between my legs.
After a couple of minutes I thought I had done all I
could, so I started to get to my feet.
"Good, you're learning! Now wait patiently, as your
new owner is coming to inspect you later today."
The Arab left, and I just sat there, naked, on the
bunk. I buried my head in my hands and was in despair
- what he fuck was going to happen to me? Just a few
days a go I was a young, free man, in the prime of
early manhood, raring to get started on a new career.
And now here I was, stuck naked in this cell, with all
this talk of "new owners" just as if I was a horse or
something!
But I didn't have too long to think about this as
before long the door outside my cell opened, and the
Arab appeared with another one - he was about my age,
and dressed in traditional Arab robes so I couldn't
see his body. But he was shorter than I was, probably
only about 5'10".
"Highness, this is the slave we captured for you to
those very exacting specifications you gave us. As
you will see, he is well made and muscular, over 6'3"
tall with the height well proportioned between body
and legs, so he has good long legs. And he is a blond
- a dark shade, admittedly, but there were none of
those very pale Scandinavians we could find within
your time scale that otherwise fitted the requirement
to be removable from society without too much fuss
being made."
"You have done well, Dealer. At first glance, he's
exactly what I'm looking for. You didn't mention my
requirement for a properly proportioned cock, and
low-hanging balls, but I see that they are very
satisfactory, too. Have him turn around, slowly, so
I can see the back and sides of him."
The enslaver looked at me and commanded "Turn around -
slowly, mind!"
What was this? Couldn't the second guy speak to me
directly? I was going to tell them to screw
themselves, but what's the point? I was completely in
their power, so I started to turn as instructed.
It's somehow very demeaning, and very erotic, to be
inspected as if you're a piece of merchandise. Of
course I was used to being naked with my team mates
and so on, but having two fully-clothed men watching
you - no, inspecting you - is something else. I could
feel my cock start to harden a bit. Fuck me, I
thought - this is not the time to get a hard-on!
"Good, Dealer. You have fulfilled my other
requirement - no obvious blemishes anywhere on the
body. And excellent job, if I may say so. I will
take delivery, for the agreed price."
"Shall we ship him to you tomorrow?"
"No, I will take him with me today. You know what
they say - the goods you take with you get home
first!"
"Are there any preparations you would like made to the
slave, Highness? Tattoos, circumcision, gelding...."
"No, of course not, fool! I'm not paying you all
this money for an unblemished slave just so that you
can go ahead and start making it artificial! My plan
is to start a new fashion for totally 'natural' slaves
and everything you suggest would spoil the effect.
I'm only having minor cosmetic changes - such as a new
haircut - made to him, and my own slave handlers will
do that."
"There is the question of the slave ID, Highness. As
licensed dealers we are required to ensure this is
tattooed clearly onto all slaves before they leave
here. Normally, we do it on the biceps, or the
ass...."
"Absolutely not! Nor in the ass crack, which is where
a lot of my slaves are marked. I expect to see this
slave's ass exposed quite often. You may have him
marked on the sole of the left foot. And whilst
you're having the state registered number inscribed,
have the following number put underneath - it's the
reference number in my inventory system. And be quick
about it - I want to take the slave with me, and don't
want to sit around here all day!"
As he was speaking, the younger Arab to whom the
enslaver had been deferring had passed over a slip of
paper, and I could see clearly on the top of it the
words "INVENTORY CONTROL - NEW ACQUISITION". I was
being treated just as if I was an object that the man
had acquired - an object amongst so many that the guy
owned that he needed some sort of computerised
inventory to keep track of it all. Did he think so
little about men - slaves - that they could just be
reduced to numbers in an inventory control system?
"Of course, Highness. It shall be done instantly.
Will you take coffee whilst you wait? And may I
arrange a parade of some of our new stock for you, to
help pass the time?"
"Yes, Dealer. Coffee would be excellent. And it's
always worth having a look at your new stock, although
I have to warn you that after buying this one, I'm
unlikely to buy anything today. However I think I
heard at a dinner the other evening that you have some
of those new dark-haired Slav types from Eastern
Europe? Lots of body hair, wiry and short, rather
than long and shaggy? You can show me some of those
- I'm looking for a stunningly handsome slave as a new
attendant for my bath, and I think I'd like a change
from the blacks that I traditionally use: a
nicely-muscled Slav, not too tall, with interesting
body hair all over him would make a nice change."
"Of course, Highness. All shall be as you command.
The chaos in Eastern Europe has given us many new
opportunities for acquiring prime stock - a lot of the
men there are so desperate to get to German, England
or France that they even pay our enslavers for a
'passage' to get smuggled in - they're usually very
surprised when they arrive here instead!"
And the two Arabs went out, still discussing men from
Eastern Europe.
I tried to make sense of what I had heard... But
frankly it didn't all make sense - "gelding", "new
fashion", "natural" ... What the hell was going on?
As I was turning over in my mind all I'd heard, the
door opened again and four guards came in - big,
tough-looking men in short, tight leather shorts,
tight leather vests and black "workmen's" boots.
They all had what looked like whips neatly coiled
attached to the leather belts at their waists, and a
couple of them carried short, blunt rods of metal,
about two feet long."
One of them came up to the cell door and said to me
"OK, slave. Do you know what a cattle prod is?"
"No."
"Well it's what a farmer uses to control unruly stock.
A jab with one of these prods my colleagues are
carrying discharges high-voltage energy into you. It
is, I assure you, extremely painful."
"We won't hesitate to use it on you if there's any
sign of struggle or resistance. We have to take you
for tattooing, and your new master is waiting, so we
want to do it as quickly as possible. Normally we
don't need these prods for just a single slave, as we
enjoy any sign of resistance as the four of us can
then use our boots on you. But we have specific
orders that you are not to be damaged - even
temporarily - so it will be the prod at the first sign
of any misbehaviour. Understood?"
I just looked at him, wondering what to say. One of
the others reached into my cell and just touched his
prod to my thigh. In an instant, I was rolling on the
floor - it was just as if someone had thrown a bucket
of scalding water over me! I writhed in agony,
screaming and choking.
As the pain subsided a bit, I looked down expecting to
see my leg horribly disfigured - but no, it looked
just the same as usual.
"I asked you if you understood, and you did not reply
instantly, as a good slave should. So you've seen the
prod in action - good, isn't it. Direct stimulation
of the nerves, so all the pain and none of the damage!
Think what would have happened if we'd touched your
balls, or even that nice-looking cock of yours, with
it!"
"Now, I ask again. Do you understand that the
slightest resistance will be met with the prod?"
Quickly I snapped out "Yes."
"Good. Get up off the floor, and come with us."
They had unlocked the cell, and I struggled to my feet
and was marched in the centre of the four of them out
of the cell room and along a couple of corridors. As
we passed I could see in to other cells - most of them
contained one or more naked men, of all ages, sizes
and colours.
There were a lot of single guys like me, in their
twenties, but I saw that a many of the blacks were
grouped in twos, fours or eights, all of roughly the
same size and colour of black. Four of the cells held
what I guessed must be the Slavs that the enslaver had
been talking aout, because they had that typical
"Slav" look - wiry, luxuriant hair on their heads, a
lot of body hair, and very dark skin tones even where
they had obviously been wearing swimming shorts.
We ended up in a room where there were already two
naked men - slaves, I suppose, one of whom was sitting
against the wall, and the other in a chair. The one
in the chair was having his biceps tattooed, and was
looking angry. I would think he was in his late
thirties, and had a very muscular body - I suppose he
had been a labourer or something before he came here.
"Stop that", my chief guard said to the tattooist.
"This one is urgent. His new owner's waiting."
Without looking round, the tattooist said "Look,
they're all urgent! I'm just finishing this one, and
his master is waiting, too. I've already done his
son, and if you just give me a couple of minutes, the
pair of them will be ready for shipment."
"The son?"
"Yes, that one snivelling over by the wall and this
one are a father and son. Rare, I know, to get two
slaves like this - the son is 20, the father 38. The
father was a warehouseman in a big distribution centre
- he handled all the items the automated systems
couldn't cope with because they were too big and too
heavy. The son was at college, and quite a jock, I
understand."
"They can't seem to adapt to their new status -
they're shy of being naked in front of each other even
after several days here. But they'll soon get over
that, I guess, with their new master!"
"Where are they going?"
"Their new master has ordered them for his leisure
complex. He wants to be able to choose whether to
beat the older one at sport, or to be beaten by the
younger one! And he specially wanted a father and son
as he likes to see a family resemblance in his slaves,
and thinks it adds an extra little spice when he fucks
them. I'm told he likes a sandwich - he fucks the
son, whilst the father fucks him - when he doesn't
have them fucking each other, as entertainment for
his guests!"
"OK, you're done!", he went on, addressing the naked
slave.
The man got up and I could see he had a good body for
someone almost forty, and a big thick cock. He went
over to the guy sitting against the wall, and helped
him to his feet. The son did not have so much muscle
but was in excellent shape, too, and was slightly
taller than his father, as is usually the case. As
they stood side by side, you could see the likeness
between them.
The father put is arm protectively around his son's
shoulders, and the young guy visibly straightened. Oh
my God, I thought, how would I have felt if I'd had to
stand there with my dad with both of us naked like
that, knowing that we were going to have to fuck each
other? Could this slavery thing get any worse, that
they could even consider treating men in this way?
Little did I know that it could - I didn't then know
what was in store for me!
The tattooist motioned for me to get in the chair, but
the guard said "No, this one's on the left foot - it's
to be a 'secret' marking."
The tattooist gave an exasperated sigh, and snapped at
me "Lie on the floor. Raise your left knee to your
chest, and put your leg straight up in the air."
The guards were hefting their prods menacingly, so I
did as I was told. It was only after I was stretched
out hat I realised I'd chosen to lie with my feet
towards the naked father and son, who still stood
there waiting for whatever was to come next. As I
raised my knee as I had been told, it occurred to me
that they would now get an even better view of my cock
and balls, and could even see my asshole as it was
exposed.
The tattooist lugged over some sort of apparatus -
rather like those portable workbenches you see in the
DIY stores: a trestle arrangement, with a top that
opens and closes to clamp wood or whatever so you can
work on it.
He straddled my body with the trestles, then grasping
my ankle, held it steady as he screwed together the
"work top". There had been a notch cut in the two top
pieces, so as they came together my ankle was gripped
firmly. He carried on screwing, then relaxed the
screws one half turn so my ankle was completely
securely clamped, but not painfully so.
He sat astride he worktop, and I could feel him doing
something with my toes. "You have to clamp the ankle
really securely", he was telling the guards, "and then
use this strap to keep the toes firmly in place. That
way the whole sole of the foot is exposed and there's
no possibility of movement. People think it's easy to
tattoo slaves here, but a lot of them are very
ticklish on the soles of their feet and if the work is
not well secured, it becomes a nightmare to do! And
even those who aren't very ticklish still have that
reflex... Look..."
I felt his finger nail run the length of my sole, and,
as you do, went to jerk my leg and curl up my foot.
But nothing happened.
"Good - did you see how the slave's muscles tried to
move, by reflex? But he's properly fixed, and so
there was no motion possible."
I heard a buzzing start, and then for the next 20
minutes or so I was in some discomfort - I won't say
pain as it didn't so much as hurt as be extremely
uncomfortable. There was an odd mixture of that
ticklish sensation you get when something sharp is
scraped across your sole, made worse by my total
inability to do anything about it; and a persistent
"pricking" as the sharp tattooing needle went in and
out.
As I lay there, I saw other guards come in and take
out the father and son. The father still had his arm
protectively around the son's shoulder, and as they
moved away I could see how even more alike their
bodies were from the back than from the front- same
general musculature, same shaped ass, and so on. What
sort of a life were they going to have, I wondered? I
know a lot of older men enjoy being with younger lads,
and many lads in their early twenties appreciate the
company of older men - but a father and son! And all
that talk of fucking, as an entertainment!
But then I was finished, my toes and ankle were
released, and I was told to get to my feet. The
guards marched me out by the same door that the father
and son had, and we went along more corridors and then
down to an underground garage.
It was cool in there, and one guard said to another
"This is a lucky slave. His master's taking him away
in his limo, that's in this air conditioned garage.
Most of them go out in those ordinary delivery vans -
fucking sweat shops, in the hot sun."
I was led over to a large black Mercedes, and what I
guessed was the chauffeur got out - I was becoming
used to seeing naked men by now, but this chauffeur's
"uniform" was just a tiny silk posing pouch held by
thin strings around his waist. When commanded by the
guards, he opened the boot of the car and I was told
to climb in.
Even though it was a huge Mercedes, the boot is still
not all that large if you are over six foot, like me,
and I had to almost curl into a foetal ball before
they could slam down the lid on me.
I don't know how long I lay there before I felt motion
in the car, and the slamming of its doors, and then it
moved off. It did get hot in the boot as we went out
into the sunshine, and soon the sweat was pouring off
me. I don't know how long the journey was, or where
it went, as it was pitch black in the boot, but after
some time the car stopped, and I felt the motion of
people getting out, then more slamming of doors, and
then the car started off again - but only for a very
short distance.
Suddenly the lid opened, and I was blinded by the
light.
"Get out, slave. And quickly!", I heard a voice say.
I was difficult to uncoil my hot, sweaty body and
actually get out of the boot - you try it sometime!
And my muscles ached a bit from the cramped position I
had been in. Reflexively I pushed my shoulders back,
arched my belly forwards, and had a simple stretch.
Then I saw that I was being watched by a big man
wearing short white silk shorts and a white silk
singlet - all of which seemed designed to emphasise
his big thigh muscles, and big hairy chest. I
realised that my stretching had had the effect of
pushing my naked cock forwards, towards him, and so
stopped and stood upright immediately.
The man was holding one of the prods and looking at me
said "You know what one of these is, slave?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I do know what it is."
"OK, slave. Lesson one would normally be that you
always answer respectfully. 'Yes, master', or 'Yes,
boss'. But you are here in the Sheikh's stables, to
join his herd of ponies. So lesson one for you is
that you never, and I repeat, never, use any words
again. You may nod your head, or shake it on those
very rare occasions when you are indicating a
negative. But absolutely no words."
"The Sheikh is a very good master, and very fair. But
here in the stables he has two standing orders that we
obey totally. One, any attempt at escape results in
death. Absolutely automatic - no excuses, no
extenuating circumstances, no pleas for mercy. Do you
understand?"
"Yes".
I was writhing on the ground in agony again, screaming
with pain, as the man jabbed at me with his prod.
He shouted at me to get to my feet, and went on :
"You've just seen the consequences of breaking rule
one, as I said - slaves designated as ponies may never
- and I repeat never - use any words of any kind.
This punishment was mild - take it that you have used
up your one 'trial' lesson. The next time you utter
any word - even a single word - you'll be flogged.
And, believe me, we have excellent flogging masters
here on the estate who can inflict terrible punishment
on you without leaving permanent scars that would
reduce your value. Now- and think carefully before
you act - do you understand rule one?"
I went to say "Yes", but remembering what he had said
instead just nodded my head.
"Good. You're a quick learner, I see. Most ponies
find it easier just to keep their mouths shut - when
they can shut them if they are not wearing a bit - to
avoid any possibility of a painful mistake."
"Now, follow me into the stables, and I'll explain the
routine to you."
We went inside, and I saw that the building was long
and low. There was a wide centre aisle, with a
smooth concrete surface, and on each side here were
bays - stalls, I suppose you would call them - each
with a layer of straw on the floor.
"This is the area where you ponies sleep, and are kept
between work assignments. They are all empty at this
time of the day as all our ponies are out. The Sheikh
has two teams of eight draft animals for pulling heavy
carts around the estate, a matched set of four blacks
for his own formal carriage, two racing pairs for
long-distance work when he wants to visit the next
estate, and a few individual ponies for light work
around the estate. Quite an establishment - you can
tell how rich and successful he is that he can afford
so many ponies. Most of them are 'thoroughbreds' like
you with especially nice bodies, and it costs a lot to
acquire and keep you. Even his draft teams are
closely matched for size and shape, and don't contain
the usual cheap rubbish that you often find in teams
of that type."
"At the end are the showers and tackle room, were we
will groom you and put on your harness for each day's
work."
As he was talking , we had walked the length of the
stable and had now entered a big tiled area with
shower heads coming out of the wall and a number of
pieces of apparatus - tables, something that looked
like a set of parallel bars, and a big "X" made out of
wood - standing against the walls.
"OK, shower!", he told me.
I was so glad to be able to do that - I was hot and
sweaty from the car journey, and anyway hadn't been
able to shower since I was captured. I could smell
the stale smell of my own body as it wafted past my
nose, and hated it - how much worse it must be for
anyone else close to me.
So I stood under the cascading water, and really
enjoyed the feeling of being squeaky clean all over
again, even though the soap I had been given was just
a lump of something very coarse that smelt as if it
was the product of a chemical factory - not at all
like the smooth perfumed bars we are used to.
The water was turned off before I was really finished
- I had washed all the soap off me, but could have
stood under the cascading water for hours, it felt so
good. I looked around for a towel, but there was
none, so I simply "planed" the water off my arms,
chest, ass, and legs as best I could - the hot dry air
would obviously dry out the rest of me quick enough.
And, as can happen, I even felt a momentary chill as
the remaining water evaporated quickly from my skin.
The guy in the shorts and singlet motioned me over to
him.
"Let me see your left sole", he said.
I turned around so my back was to him, bent my left
leg up and grasped my ankle to hold it as high as
possible.
He stooped down and read the Arabic that had been
tattooed there, and punched it into the keyboard of a
handheld PC that had been dangling from his belt.
"Good", he said, half to himself, half to me. "The
Palace inventory system has already been updated and
so you are on the Sheikh's property register. That
saves a lot of time for me, as sorting out he
paperwork fuck-ups after the event takes so much
effort. This new radio-linked PDA system really is a
godsend to us managers!"
"You'll be pleased to know that the Sheikh has
approved the use of 'Steve' for you. We only have one
name in use at any one time in the stables, and
currently there's no 'Steve'. And the Sheikh thinks
that short names are best for ponies, so that's OK,
too. Somehow it seems easier for you new ponies to
adjust when we continue to use your existing names,
rather than have to try to get used to new ones. Some
of our ponies get punished very harshly in their first
few weeks because they simply don't remember that an
order addressed to 'Bob' or 'Slim' or ' Jeff' or
whatever is intended for them - they're still thinking
of themselves as 'William', or whatever!"
So these bastards could even cruelly rename a guy on a
whim, could they? A man's name is his - by the time
you're mature, you're so used to it I can see why some
of the ponies had problems.
"There are no special treatments needed for you, as
you are not to lose teeth to take the bit firmly down
in your mouth, or to have the chain waistcoats that a
draft pony needs welded on. And the Sheikh has
postponed a decision as to where you will be branded -
he wants to see how the 'new attachment strategy' he's
working on looks in practice."
"So all that we need to do for you is cut your hair,
shave you, and give you all the right shots you need
if you are to remain healthy and work hard out here.
And even then, most of this is simple - you're not
even having the full body shave, like the blacks and
racing ponies - just the standard ball trim."
"So, let's get started. Bend over that table."
I was going to run away or something - but I didn't
know where I was, or whether there was anywhere to run
to, even. And as he was hefting his prod, I just did
as I was told.
He gave me four injections in all - two in each ass
cheek.
"Yellow fever, typhoid, anti-maleria......", he said
to himself as he was doing it. "It was much easier
when the vet used to come out and do this. But when
he put his rates up last year, the Sheikh decided we
could do all the regular vaccinations of the ponies
and the vet would only be called in for emergency
work."
My bum felt quite sore after this, but the man shouted
something and a couple of young guys who can't have
been more than 16 years old came running. Like me,
they were naked but their well-muscled bodies looked
even younger and less mature as they were totally
devoid of body hair.
"Standard pony hair trim and pubic treatment for this
one, lads" the man said. "But nothing off anywhere
else, except you can shorten the armpit hair a bit.
And remember, it's his first day. He's not used to
being handled by you stable lads, so be patient and
gentle with him."
So these were stable lads! This "pony" business was
obviously carried to the limit. Did they have
"jockeys", too, I wondered?
The lads were obviously skilled and experienced at
what they did , however. Within a couple of minutes
my already short hair (I liked to keep it quite short
as it's easier for showering after sports) was reduced
to a uniform quarter-inch all over. And my hair-line
usually tapered out gradually, whereas now it was
razored into a sharp cut-off. They even razored
around my temples a bit, to make the hair that comes
right up to the forehead even more pronounced from the
valleys on either side.
But it was the shaving of my cock and balls that I
really hated - even though they were ever so gentle
and clearly knew that holding another man's balls,
especially when you also have a really sharp razor, is
a real responsibility. They shaved my balls totally,
together with the few strands that were on the shaft
of my cock. My pubic hair was trimmed down to a
uniform length of half an inch, and the sides shaved
away totally so I just had a small patch left
immediately above the cock and balls themselves.
When they gestured for me to lie back and open my legs
so that they could get in to razor the hair away from
underneath my sac in that sensitive area leading
towards the asshole, I didn't think it could get any
worse from the point of view of humiliation. But it
did - I then had to lie on my stomach and pull my ass
cheeks apart, whilst they shaved all down inside my
crack and around the asshole.
No one- and I mean no one - not even myself - had ever
touched my asshole before. And now here were these two
naked lads soaping it up and then razoring the hair
off!
When they had finished, the man led me off and into
one of the stalls about half way along.
"That spigot is for water. It's always available.
Just push your mouth well over it, then tongue the
flap to get the water flowing", he said.
"The straw is fresh every day. But try to keep it
clean, as it's not nice for the lads when they clean
the stables in the morning if you piss or crap in it.
That hole in the corner is for that."
"Now after those injections you'll be stiff, and
probably have a bit of a fever. So I'll leave you to
rest for the remainder of the day and night."
"Come over here..."
I followed him to the far end of the stall, away from
the corridor. He bent down and rummaged around in the
straw, and came up with a length of chain. Reaching
up he looped one end of the chain around my neck, then
did some sort of little "cinch" followed by a "snap".
"This is another example of how the Sheikh's a good
master", he said. "He allows you the freedom to move
around in your stall, rather than tethering you firmly
to the floor. And he does it with a chain, rather
than a fixed collar around your neck, so that there is
no possibility of sores or scarring caused by chafing.
You can't reach the corridor, but you can get to the
shit hole, stretch, and do exercises, if you want."
He went out, without a further word, and I just sat
down, and remained motionless, feeling the sharp ends
of the straw poking into my naked ass. It smelt fresh
and sweet, though - I suppose there's something
primeval going back to our early days as farmers about
the smell of fresh straw - although I was not really
in a position to completely appreciate it!
It must have been the sheer strangeness of everything
that allowed me to sleep. It's funny, isn't it - when
there's a big problem in your "normal" life you lie
awake worrying about it. But when something totally
overwhelming happens to you, you can just sleep. I
was so tired from everything that had happened to me
so far that I just went out like a light. I suppose I
knew there was nothing I could do about what was
happening to me - it didn't matter how much I worried
and fretted, I just knew that whatever was in store
for me was going to happen anyway.
So I woke up to find the stalls opposite me occupied
by other naked men, who I supposed must be the other
"ponies" the guy had told me about the day before. In
one stall I could see eight really big, heavily
muscled guys who had chains running across their
shoulders, down under their pecs, and around to the
back. And another stall held two completely naked -
and I mean completely, as they didn't seem to have any
hair at all on them - black guys. They were huge -
I'm tall, but these lads must have been at least six
inches taller than me. And when I say "black", I mean
"black" - these weren't the sort of dark brown you see
every day on the street, they were the absolutely
coal-black men that you only rarely see in the USA or
Europe as they come from West Africa and tend to stay
there.
I sat there rubbing my eyes, and realised I needed to
piss - after my usual morning hard-on had subsided.
It wasn't the sight of those other men that made me
erect - don't get me wrong - it's just the normal
erection that all young guys get as they wake. I was
glad there was some of the loose straw in front of me,
as I didn't want the other men across the passage way
to see me like that.
I thought about calling out to the others, then
remembered what I had been told about not speaking.
And they obviously followed the "no speaking" rule,
too, because although they had seen me and had even
half-waved to acknowledge my presence, none of them
called out.
I moved in my stall until I was by the piss hole,
then, turning my back so that the others wouldn't see,
relieved myself. It was good to do those "normal"
morning things - although I knew the rest of my day
was going to be far from normal.
As I finished, one of the young naked lads who had
shaved me the day before came along with a stainless
steel dish and pushed it at me. I saw it had the same
dog-biscuit things in it as I had been fed before, but
I was so hungry that I just sat there and chewed them
up.
The other "ponies" that I could see were eating, too,
and as they finished guards came along and unfastened
them from where they had been tethered in their stalls
and led them off. I could distantly hear the sounds
of wheels on the stones of the yard outside, and
supposed they were therefore going off "to work".
There was nothing else I could do so I just sat there,
and then, when that got boring, I decided to do some
stretching and exercises. Ever since I was about 15
I'd done the Canadian Army exercises every morning, as
you can do them anywhere as you don't need apparatus.
And the familiar feeling of these routines as I
stretched, bent, jumped, and ran on the spot was
comforting somehow. Except, of course, that I wasn't
used to my cock and balls flying around as I did it -
at home, and at university, I'd always pulled on a
pair of training shorts before I started! And the
chain around my neck got in the way, and the clinking
and jangling sound it made as I tried to exercise was
really annoying.
It must have been midmorning before anything else
happened, and then it was the big muscular guy in
singlet and tight shorts who came in.
"Right, Steve! Just remember lesson one from
yesterday, and don't make a sound. I've got my cattle
prod here waiting to teach you a lesson if you deserve
it."
"I'm going to unchain you now, and take you off to be
measured. Don't try to escape, as you won't succeed:
you're in the middle of the stable complex, in the
middle of the Sheikh's estates. Even if you make a
break for it, I guarantee you won't get far. And I'm
sure you remember what I told you was the absolutely
automatic punishment for attempted escape?"
He stopped, and was obviously expecting a reply. So
remembering his "lesson one", I simply nodded my head.
"Good boy! You're a quick learner, I see."
He undid the chain from around my neck, and told me to
follow him. We went along the passage in-between the
stalls, and I could see all the muscles in his body
flowing in that controlled way that all guys who look
after their bodies have. There wasn't an ounce of fat
on him - he was all solid muscle - and it seemed as if
the singlet, which was cut very low, and the shorts,
that were tight over his ass and cut very high at the
sides, were designed to emphasise his body rather than
to conceal it.
In the "tack room" at the end, there were two men with
several pieces of apparatus made out of stainless
steel. I was told to stand upright in the middle of
the room, and the two men proceeded to put one piece
of it around my neck - it was two bars, hinged
together at one end, whose middles were bent out so
that my neck would fit in. As soon as it was around
me, they closed the other two ends together, and then
spent sometime discussing "the fit".
Fingers were poked down between the steel and my neck,
and there was much discussion as to whether it should
be tighter or looser.
"It's really important there should be no movement",
said one, "as I t will otherwise chafe and scar badly.
Remember, the whole load is being taken on his
shoulders."
So they carried on, and then measured from marks on
the bars to where the hard tops of my shoulders and
collar bone touched it. I was then told to raise my
arms, and the positions where my hands intersected
with the bars were carefully measured.
I was then told to bend over, double, and they
measured the height of the bars to the floor, then
commanded me to stand up and measured the distance
from the bars vertically downwards over my body to the
tops of my legs - the place where you can feel your
pelvic bone stick out, just above your cock.
What the hell was going on, I wondered?
Ultimately they finished, and I was released from the
bars. But the final thing was strangest of all - they
measured my wrists, very exactly. And measured them
when I was told to hold my hands at shoulder-height,
with my hands parallel to the sides of my head.
I heard one say to the other "We need to get his
wrists right, in the position he's going to have to
hold them. Most men when told to hold their hands in
the air do so with the palms facing forwards, but we
need to understand how his wrist bones will be when
his hands are at right angles to that. After all, we
do need to get an exact fit."
Then they were gone, and the man in the singlet and
shorts, who had been watching all this, said "That's
all for today, Steve. So now we'll just make sure you
get some exercise."
He led me off to a yard, where there was a long pole
mounted about eight feet above the ground, parallel to
the ground, with one end fastened to a pillar. The
pole was rotating, driven by a motor within the
pillar. Fastened to the rotating pole by chains
around their necks were the two jet-black slaves I had
seen that morning.
"The Sheikh isn't using his fast carriage today", the
singlet guy said , "So Gin and Tonic here are doing
their daily exercises on the exerciser. You can join
them, even though your own work won't really be like
this. But I think you'd probably rather run around
here in the open, than be chained in your stall all
day."
I looked at the two blacks, who were sweating in spite
of the hot, dry air. How degrading fore them - I
supposed they had had "African" names, so the Sheikh
had re-titled them "gin and tonic" in that way you
see dog owners do sometimes who call a pair of dogs
"Whiskey and Soda", or some other cute combination!
Singlet man reached up to the bar and pulled down a
chain, which he looped around my neck and snapped
shut. Then he took a pair of handcuffs off his belt
and told me to hold my hands behind my back, and
cuffed them together. A short chain from the cuffs to
the one around my neck then held my hands very
uncomfortably high up in the middle of my back,
instead of allowing them to hang down at ass level.
He looked at what he had done, pulled at the chains
and cuffs to make sure everything was secure, then
shouted "Roll it!".
The arm began to rotate, and all three of us started
to circle the big pillar. I thought the blacks had it
relatively easy as their hands were not cuffed and
they could adopt a "normal" running posture, whereas
it was extremely difficult for me to have to run with
my hands constrained as they were.
And then I found out why the blacks were sweating -
the rotational speed varied, sometimes allowing us to
go at a gentle jog, and sometimes requiring us to run
fast - and I mean fast! I was fortunate in being
chained to the bar closer to the pillar than the
blacks, as they had to run even faster than me in
order to keep up with the relentless sweeping of the
arm around the circular yard.
Now I'm a fit guy, but this running was just endless.
We went on and on, and there was no way I could stop
without being choked by my chain. And my feet, which
were used to exercising in proper athletic shoes, were
really sore as they had to run over the sand and
pebbles in the yard. That, and the rasping effort a
my lungs tried to drag in enough air to keep me
going, certainly took my mind off the ache from my
unsupported balls as they slapped against my thighs as
I ran on, and on.
Singlet guy came and watched for a bit after what I
judged was a couple of hours, and then called out to
someone. The turning of the pole ceased, and he came
up and unchained me. But then it started again and
the two blacks had to continue their relentless
running.
"Gin and tonic really prefer to pull the Sheikh's
high-speed gig", singlet man said. He seemed to like
telling me what was going on. "He rarely goes more
than five or six miles, and they find that a lot
easier than the exerciser here."
He led me back into the stables, I was allowed to
shower, quickly, then he led me back and chained me
again into an empty stall.
I was fed again that night, and was so tired that
again I slept well. All the "ponies" seemed to be in
the same position, as when they got back to their
stalls you could just tell they were exhausted and all
they wanted to do was to stretch out and sleep.
It was the same the next day as the previous one - I
was left in my stall until all the other "ponies" had
left, and then singlet man came and got me.
"Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life",
he said with an irritating false bonhomie. "Those
smiths who measured you yesterday worked through the
night, and your new rig is ready. The Sheikh is
really excited!"
"Now I'll caution you again. Say nothing. Absolutely
nothing, when we get to the tack room. Your master
the Sheikh is coming down specially to see you fitted
into the new tack. He's very proud of the system,
which he has designed himself, and he's got his cousin
with him to show it off to on its first day. He would
be extremely angry if you were to show any human
signs, and I can't answer for the consequences if you
do. He has a violent temper, and even though he paid
a lot to the enslavers to get a man with your physical
characteristics, and has spent a lot on this custom
rig, he'd easily start all over again with a new man
if he loses his temper!"
We went into the tack room, then stood there waiting
until the Sheikh - the young guy I had seen at the
enslavers - accompanied by another Arab of about the
same age, appeared. I just stood there, totally
naked, in front of them and singlet guy. Somehow it
was worse being naked in front of the two Arabs who
were about my own age, than it was being naked in
front of "singlet guy". I don't know whether this was
because I had become used to being naked in front of
the "singlet guy", or because I knew the Sheikh
"owned" me, or just because guys don't like being
naked in front of their clothed contemporaries - for
whatever reason I felt embarrassed in a way I hadn't
for the last couple of days, and could even feel the
beginnings of a flush across my chest and shoulders.
The Sheikh was speaking as he came in, and it was in
English. His was faultless and unaccented, and I
could clearly hear "....bored with the existing
methods. As you know, we have chain waistcoats
permanently welded on to the draft ponies, and these
can be hooked onto the chains on the front of the
carts they pull. That way they are free to use their
arms for greater leverage when necessary, and, of
course, they can easily be hitched and unhitched to
load and unload the carts."
"And as you've seen many times before, my carriage
ponies - whether they are the big formal matched team
of four, the pair of blacks I use for fast work, or
one of the single ponies use for very light work - are
all conventionally harnessed. Their wrists are
chained to the cross-poles, and they simply push
forwards against them. Of course I have their back
teeth removed so that the bits can fit snugly down,
and they are held in place by bridles around their
chins and heads."
"But this new method is my own invention entirely. I
got the idea when I saw one of those yokes that used
to be used for carrying buckets of water back in the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And I guess
draft cattle and so on use a variation of it for
ploughing in less advanced countries."
He stopped talking to his companion, turned to
"singlet man" and continued "Right, Stable Master,
let's see if all the effort has been worth it. Get
him into the rig."
The man who I had been thinking of as "singlet guy"
was evidently the Sheikh's Stable Master. He picked
up a large stainless steel object lying on the floor,
and approached me with it. I saw that yesterday's
pair of stainless steel poles had been transformed
into a yoke - hinged at one end still, and the stable
master fitted it around my neck.
As well as a hole for my neck, there were two holes
for my wrists which I had to raise and hold just
outside my shoulder line. When the yoke was snapped
closed, I found that my shoulders fitted snugly into
depressions on its underside, my neck was held firmly
but not tightly, and the wrist holes were shaped so
closely that I could not rotate my hands.
The stable master and the Sheikh came over and spent a
lot of time examining the fit of this yoke - they
seemed pleased, as the couldn't slip fingers between
it and my flesh.
"That's just what I ordered", the Sheikh commented,
"Tight, but not constricting. As this pony matures,
stable master, ensure the yoke is checked regularly.
I expect his neck will thicken further - although he
has a mature man's neck already - and I don't want him
choking or being restrained by not being able to
breathe properly."
The stable master then gestured for me to follow him,
and we went out into the yard where there was a thing
that looked like a rickshaw waiting. I say "looked
like a rickshaw", as I have only ever seen pictures of
them and have not been to the Far East. It was a
small cart, with two big wheels at the side and a
leather seat running between them. From the front of
it stretched two stainless steel shafts, and the whole
thing looked designed for lightness and speed.
The stable master commanded me to step between the
shafts, behind a small bar that joined them together
about half way along. He then raised the shafts, and
told me to move forward to the bar, which was then at
the height of my pelvic bone.
I stood there as the Sheikh and his companion watched,
then the stable master told me to bend forwards.
As soon as I did, leaning against the bar, be roughly
pushed my head further down and then I heard a double
"snap" as the two ends of my yoke locked into fittings
at the far end of the cart's shafts.
"Look", observed the Sheikh to his companion.
"Perfect! The pony can't stand up now as any effort
to do so merely tries to force the cart into the
ground. And he can't bend further forward, without
lifting the cart off the ground. Whilst it's been
designed for lightness, the mechanics of it and the
leverage caused by the length of the shaft just make
it impossible. He's stuck bent double like that until
he's released."
"Of course, we'll loose a lot of power this way. A
man runs best upright, and the classical attachment
method when he can throw his chest out is probably
best. But look at what this new method gives us."
"Firstly, I selected a long-legged pony. When you
look at a naked pony slave, you tend to overlook the
legs as you naturally focus on the cock, and then on
the musculature of the torso. But here you can't help
seeing those fantastic long legs. And the way he is
stretched, you see the thigh muscles, and the tendons
at the back of the knees, in perfect detail."
"Secondly, observe his back. Do you see how the
muscles are all standing out, an you can also see the
line of his backbone almost the entire length? The
shoulder muscles are emphasised because of the way
he's having to hold his hands slightly out from his
body, and in the 'wrong' direction. And I always
choose slaves with those prominent vertebrae as I like
to see a back like that."
"And thirdly, look how it makes his ass look. Have you
ever seen a nicer ass on a young slave than that?"
"But surely he can't run as well like that as if he's
put into a conventional harness", the Sheikh's friend
observed. "He can't use his whole body to run with -
only his thigh and ass muscles."
"True enough", he Sheikh replied. "But then this is a
light trap, so not all that much effort is required.
And I deliberately chose a slave with long, muscular
legs and a muscular ass so that his body power could
be maximised. But, anyway, I think you miss the
point!"
"And what point is that?"
"Look, if I wanted to get around my estate quickly, I
could simply have a four-wheel drive vehicle. There's
nowhere on the estate not accessible to an all-terrain
vehicle, and it certainly would be more comfortable -
we could have the air conditioning on! The whole
point of having human ponies to pull a trap is to
humiliate them and to show my power by having another
man completely subservient to my whims and desires."
"Now consider the ordinary harness ponies", the Sheikh
went on. "Sure, they're naked, and they're held on to
the traps by their harnesses. But they still have
some freedom of movement, and they're upright, like
real men. But look at this slave - he's totally
helpless. He can't stand up, he can't sit down, he
can't move his arms at all. And he knows that he is
totally powerless to do anything to prevent me from
feeling his testicles, or probing his asshole, which
is, after all, almost exposed. Look...."
The Sheikh came over toward me, and the next moment I
felt his finger sliding down between my ass cheeks.
Then his finger touched my actual asshole, and I
flinched- that's all I could do, as I was indeed
powerless. I wanted to scream out and tell the dirty
fucker to leave me alone, but I remembered all I'd
been told about using speech, and was even more afraid
about what might happen to me if I protested like
that. So I just had to stand there, shuffling from
foot to foot as the Sheikh's finger remorselessly
toyed with my asshole, and even pushed itself a little
way in. It was totally disgusting. I'd never even
fingered up there myself - real men don't, do they?
And now to have this pervert doing it to me in front
of everyone standing around was so shameful it was
almost more than I could bear.
"See....", the Sheikh continued, "Look how humiliated
the slave is. I know he's a virgin, as I ordered one
and since he has been enslaved no one has been near
his hole. He absolutely detests my finger feeling him
in his most secret, most private place, but there's
absolutely nothing he can do about it whilst he's in
this rig. If he was in a conventional harness, It
would be much more difficult for me to feel him there,
as I'd need to get him to bend over first, and then he
would be free to move around."
"No, using a man as a pony is all about domination and
control, and this new method of attaching the slave to
the trap is infinitely better in this respect than the
conventional ones. It's worth losing out on the
slave's efforts, in order to achieve this total
dominance of him. He knows he's just being treated as
a plaything for me, and there's not a blind thing he
can do about it!"
"Now", he continued turning towards his stable master,
singlet guy, "Let's attach the reins so I can go for
my first drive."
The stable master approached the front of me, and I
could see his crotch bulging and his semi-erect cock
clearly outlined through the thin silk of them - it
was at my eye level, as I stood there bend at right
angles from my waist.
The stable master had two long leather leashes, each
of which had a stainless steel ring sewn onto one end.
He slipped one of the rings over the middle finger of
each of my hands, then led the leashes backwards, over
my back, towards the trap.
"I've even invented this new method of steering", the
Sheikh went on. "Instead of the conventional bit and
bridle, pulling on the reins will pull the slave's
fingers backwards and I can quickly cause him any
desired amount of pain to ensure proper steering
control. Although I like having the bits and bridles
in my conventional ponies, it does mean that anything
they might try to say is muffled. This method leaves
the slave's mouth completely clear, so, if he dares,
he can shout or cry out: so much more of a
subservient position for him - he has to control
himself not to say anything - he has to use his own
innate fear of me and the punishments I can order for
him to make sure he never says anything. Subtle,
don't you think?"
The Sheikh and his friend were now standing in front
of me, and by bending my head upwards I could just see
up to their faces.
"And here's the final indignity for the slave", the
Sheikh went on. "To be as relaxed as he can be given
his unnatural body position, he needs to keep his neck
straight and thus his eyes are directed downwards. As
you can see, he has to make a real effort to try to
look up, or ever straight ahead. So during a long
drive, he won't be able to keep looking forwards, only
downwards at the spot almost underneath him. So he'll
become totally dependent on my guidance - he'll have
to rely on his driver to steer him clear of obstacles,
make sure he doesn't bump into things, and so on. Not
only do we remove another part of his free will, but
we increase the subservience to the master."
"I had thought of having a bracket attached to the
yoke", he went on, "To prevent the slave raising his
head at all. But on reflection I decided it probably
isn't necessary- normal muscle fatigue will prevent
him from raising his head much. And, of course, I
avoid all the need for those unsightly blinkers you
see conventional harnessed ponies wearing sometimes to
keep them focussed on the road ahead. Now.... Shall
we go for our first ride?"
I felt the shafts flex as the Sheikh and his friend
were obviously getting into the trap - there was
absolutely no way that I could turn around to see, of
course. Then the Sheikh snapped at me "Forward!",
and the leather reins were slapped across my naked
back and ass.
So I started to move forward. It really was difficult
- even though I've always done stretching exercises
so my muscles are fairly loose and flexible, you're
just not used to trying to walk, and then run, when
bent at right angles! I could feel myself using the
balls of my feet rather than putting my whole foot
flat on the ground, and the pain from the backs of my
knees, my thighs, and my ass muscles got worse and
worse as I went along.
I soon got used to being steered" by the Sheikh, who
pulled on the reins to pull my middle fingers back
when he wanted me to turn left or right. And I also
discovered another disadvantage of being bent over -
my ass was completely exposed to the Sheikh as driver,
and he could easily flick at it with a light, thin
whip he carried - it didn't really hurt in a
sustained way, but each time it fell across me, the
sharp stinging pain was enough to spur me on to
maintain my pace if it was flagging a bit, or to speed
me up.
I don't know how long this first drive" went on,
because after the first few minute I ceased to be
able to think about time rationally - I was hurting so
much from my legs and I needed to concentrate so hard
on just keeping going, not stumbling, and obeying the
Sheikh's steering commands to prevent my fingers being
broken off. I just knew that this was the hardest
exercise I'd ever done in my entire life - I was
gasping for breath, and I could feel the sweat running
off my entire body.
The Sheikh was also a master of causing me unexpected
pain - if it seemed that I was not reacting properly
to one of the stinging lashes to my ass or thighs, he
would occasionally - and of course totally
unexpectedly - throw his whip forward so that the
fast-moving, light, thin end would curl down into my
exposed armpits, and the burning pain I then got when
the tender skin there was hit was a new agony for me.
And when he tired of this, I found he could also whip
my exposed balls as they hung down between my naked
thighs.
Although I desperately wanted to cry out and shout, I
knew that this would only be worse for me in the end,
so I had to content myself with strangled,
inarticulate cries. I wanted to curse and swear, call
the Sheikh all the vile names I could think of - but
all I could do was just howl with an animal-like
shout.
But we did get back to the stables eventually, and I
heard the Sheikh say "So far so good, stable master.
Make sure he exercises the top of his body this
afternoon as we want to ensure he maintains an even
development - running like this, all that will get
exercised is his ass and his legs. I'll not use him
myself for another week, but I want you to take
personal charge - he's to run at least five miles a
day in the new rig, and you can drive him yourself: I
don't trust the other slaves to do the job properly."
"Yes, your highness.", the stable master replied, and
by straining my head I saw the sheikh and his friend
walk off towards the palace.
"Right, Steve, you heard what the man said!", the
stable master said in a kind of joking tone. Let's
get you out of this rig for today, then on to
upper-body exercises."
He came around to the front, and fiddled with the
fastenings that held the end of my yoke to the shafts.
As they came free, I couldn't help myself, and simply
pitched forward. Unable to use my hands to break my
fall, I hit my head quite hard on the sand of the
stable yard.
The stable master at once rushed to help me, and
ordered a couple of the stable lads to come and raise
me to my feet. I really couldn't stand unaided - my
muscles had all seized and locked into place, and it
was only with the greatest difficulty that they held
me there, on my wavering legs. If the pain when I had
been bent over and running was bad, it was even worse
now that my body was returned to its "normal"
position, and I groaned and moaned in agony. I wanted
to reach down and try to massage my cramping and
spasming muscles, but my hands were still locked
rigidly into my yoke.
"I didn't realise you were in such a bad way, Steve!",
the stable master said as he saw my obvious distress.
"Hang in there....", and then he snapped some orders
at the stable lads who half-supported me, half carried
me into the stables.
Inside, I was lowered into a large plunge pool full of
hot water, and with most of my body weight taken by
the water, and the effect of the heat on my muscles, I
could actually stand upright and began to feel better.
"I always knew this hydrotherapy pool would be useful
one day", the stable master said. "The Sheikh had it
installed here after he had visited a racing stable
for real horses in England, and saw them using a pool
for injured race horses. But we haven't used it
ourselves so far - if a pony is that badly hurt here,
it's easier just to replace him."
The stable master then, to my amazement, slipped off
his tight silk shorts and his semi-erect cock sprang
out from his body. Reaching down with crossed arms,
he pulled the singlet up and off in one fluid motion,
so he was totally naked (and of course as he did so
his cock bounded upwards as his stomach tightened -
I've often commented to myself that there are two
sorts of guys in this world: those who take off their
tops before modestly dropping their shorts whilst
changing, usually turning their backs to you so you
can't see their cocks; and those who get rid of the
shorts first and then strip off their tops. They
always face you, and even if you don't want to look at
heir cocks, it's difficult not to when you know they
can't see you whilst their head is covered by their
shirt!).
He slipped into the water, and stood in front of me.
Then he reached up and released the catch at the end
of my yoke so the two halves came apart, and I could
free my hands. He helped me to take the yoke off
completely, and put it on the side of the pool, and
then we just stood there, facing each other. If
anyone had come in at hat moment we might have been
two buddies who had just come back from a run, or a
session in the gym, and who were now cooling off in
the plunge pool. But this man had my happiness and my
life in his direct control.
He looked directly in my eyes, and then I felt his
hands running all over my shoulders, and down across
my chest until his fingers were probing the ridges of
muscles across my belly.
"Well, no obvious signs of strain there", he said.
"Now sit down on the seat around the edge, and raise
your legs."
I did as he said, and then he stood there running his
hands up and down each of my legs in turn. I had
never been handled like this by another guy before -
well, at least not unless it was by a professional
physiotherapist on a massage table. And here it was a
naked guy doing it to me. He wasn't at all concerned
about my cock and balls, and his hands ran right up my
thighs as they probed for muscle strain - he wasn't
in the least bit concerned about feeling my cock
against the back of his hand as he continued his
examination. And he obviously wasn't concerned about
being naked himself whilst all this was going on.
"OK, you'll live!", he grinned. "Now, after about 15
minutes of this relaxing warmth, you're going to have
to get out. I'll schedule only a little exercise of
the legs for you, as we do need to keep you capable of
walking and running normally. But, as the Sheikh
said, we mustn't neglect your upper body development
so it will be long sessions on the weights machines, a
lot of press-ups, and a hundred or so trunk curls, to
keep that belly of yours nicely ridged with muscle."
So saying, he got out of the water, planed himself
dry, and casually pulled back on his singlet and
shorts. He walked off, shouting orders to the stable
lads, and after a time they came and motioned me to
get out.
Surprisingly, I could walk almost normally, and I was
led into the gym attached to the stables where I was
able to do a whole afternoon's exercises with only the
occasional "encouragement" from a guard who patrolled
with a light whip to make sure that the slaves using
the gym did not slacken their pace, or fail to do all
the exercises properly.
I certainly slept well that night - I didn't hear any
of the usual sounds from the rest of the ponies - the
little sighs and farts all guys make during the night,
and even the noises of passion as I guessed some of
the "team" ponies enjoyed each others' bodies.
He following day it was the stable master, in his
customary white singlet and shorts, who was waiting by
my trap when I was led out, and he supervised the
fixing of my yoke, and the attachment of it to the
shafts. And then we were off again - running,
running, running, until all thought of anything else
had disappeared from my brain. All I could do was
just keep my will going to put one foot down in front
of the next - it was the total focus of my thoughts,
my whole being.
When we did stop, we were not back in the stable yard,
so I knew a further period of torment was in store for
me as we would need to get home. But it was a
pleasant spot, and we were on a patch of grass under a
couple of tress that shaded my back from the burning
sun.
"OK, Steve", the stable master said as he came around
and stood by my head. I saw him slide the shorts off,
and his cock - which although not as long as mine was
certainly as thick - started to erect. "You're not
going to like this, but it's for your own good."
"You're a virgin, I know, but the Sheikh doesn't allow
his slaves to stay like that. He likes his slaves to
be multipurpose, so all you ponies are part of the
palace's 'pleasure' operation: when he's bored, he
has you get together for a little orgy whilst he
watches! So you've got to lose that virginity, and
get used to taking a cock up your ass."
"Normally I just let it happen, and we all laugh when
a virgin slave first realises that he's about to lose
it. But I've taken a fancy to you, as I think you've
got something special about you - and I actually feel
a bit sorry for you, being torn out of your normal
life and ending up here. So I'm going to break you in
personally, gently. The first time is always the most
difficult as your asshole is tight and unstretched,
and if some big pony just fucks you it will really
hurt and he might even damage you. So I'm going to do
it now, slowly and gently."
"Of course, as you can see, I'm way above average in
the cock department, so it won't all be a bed of roses
for you. But I'll be as gentle as I can."
"This will be a really stressful time for you, so let
me remind you again that you absolutely must not
speak. You can cry out - and I'll expect you to do
that - from pain, or pleasure, or perhaps both. But
just animal howls, no words! Remember!"
He walked around behind me, and I felt the shafts move
as he got between them. Then I felt his fingers
probing my ass, and as I had when the Sheikh had first
touched me in my secret place, I tried to get away by
shifting my weight from foot to foot - but it was
equally futile: bent double, locked in the shafts by
my yoke, there was absolutely nothing I could do.
I felt his finger go inside me, then it was withdrawn,
but it was back a moment later and it felt easier.
"See, I've lubed it with a bit of spit!", I heard him
say.
He carried on probing and moving his finger around
inside my hole, and it did indeed seem to feel better
after a very short time. But then he pulled his
finger out, and I heard him spitting again.
"OK, Steve. Now be brave! I've slathered my cock in
my spit, and I'm going to start to go up you. Don't
resist! If you try to resist, your asshole will clamp
shut and it will be much more difficult for both of
us. Instead, pretend you're about to have a crap -
that crapping motion opens the asshole, and it will be
easier for me to get inside, and that in turn will be
much easier for you."
I wanted to say "No, no. This is all wrong...", but
couldn't, of course. I felt his hands pulling my ass
cheeks apart, and then a warm "something" pushing at
my asshole. It actually was much warmer than his
finger - I've since realised that cocks always do feel
warm like that to the asshole, but this first time it
was a new sensation.
The pressure increased on me, and I could feel the
stable master pushing forwards against me, as his cock
tried to enter me.
"Come on, Steve", he shouted. "Stop resisting......
Think about crapping".
I did, and to my surprise there was a sort of "pop"
sensation and a little sigh from the stable master.
"OK, Steve, that's the most difficult bit. The head
of my cock and it's thick flange is now safely inside
you. I'm now going to slide the rest of my cock into
you, slowly and gently. Just shout if the pain is too
bad - but do try to take it like a man!"
In fact, it wasn't painful, at first. It felt good to
have this piece of warm, solid man flesh sliding into
me. There was that amazing sensation you get when
you're shitting - the physical pleasure of feeling
something moving deep inside your ass.
The stable master was grunting "Only a little more
now", and it was starting to hurt, but not anything I
couldn't take. And I'm not really certain, looking
back on it, whether it was real pain, or just an odd
mixture of true pleasure spiced up with a bit of pain.
Then felt his thighs in direct contact with my ass
cheeks, and he flopped forward so his silk singlet
with his hot body underneath it was lying along my
back.
"There. All in. You've taken me in totally. That
wasn't bad, was it?"
"Now for the fun! I'm going to slide in and out of
you, ever so slowly at first, although I will get
quicker. Only shout if you really want me to stop."
And he did - it felt incredible. We all know what it
feels like to have a big, rampant cock up our asses,
and my words can't really add anything to your ow
experiences. But I now know how lucky I was to have
such a gentle and considerate lover that first time -
as he rocked backwards and forwards, slowly and
gently, I had those feelings that I had never had
before. I now knew why men wanted to fuck each other,
and why a man's cock is the perfect size and shape for
a man's asshole. Why hadn't anyone ever told me
whilst I was growing up that having another man up you
is the most amazing sensation that you can have? Why
had all my mates always jeered at "gays" - surely at
least one of them must have known the real truth about
how fucking and being fucked by another man is the
best sensation in the world?
But after a few minutes of this sheer unadulterated
bliss, the stable master stopped and pulled out.
"I could tell you liked that", he said. "But you have
to learn to take the rough with the smooth."
And with that, his whole rhythm changed - he started
to thrust in and out with a force that almost amounted
to violence, and his pubic bone kept smashing into
that sensitive area around my ass hole as he did. I
started to gasp, and the gasps soon changed to cries
of pain (or pleasure?) in time with his thrusting. He
too was making noises, and then I heard him shout
"Sweet Jesus....." And he stopped and collapsed
forwards onto my back again. I could feel something
different inside me, and there were tiny spasms from
his cock as he shot the last few spouts of his cum
deep up into me.
He lay there on me for a minute or two, then stood up
and pulled his now flaccid cock out of my ass.
"There you are, Steve. You're a real man now - no
longer a virgin! That's a good hard fucking, to get
you started on your new life. You did well - a lot of
guys scream and shout the first time, especially if
they're with a very active dominant guy like me. I
know it hurt a bit, and I could hear you gasping and
shouting, but I think you enjoyed it, mostly, didn't
you?"
"Anyway, it really doesn't matter. As you'll find
out, the Sheikh likes all his ponies to be well fucked
all the time - it adds to his pleasure to be able to
see good-looking, well-muscled men fucking away at
each other."
"You should be glad that we're going straight back to
the stables - If I was going around for the rest of
the day I'd have you clean my cock up...."
He was standing in front of me now, and I could see
his singlet was soaked in sweat. His cock was at eye
level, and I could smell my own shit on it as he waved
it in front of my face.
"But I can have a good bath when we get back, and so
for now I'll just go home dirty!"
And with that he bent down and pulled on his shorts,
then I felt the trap move as he got in, and there was
a quick slap of the reins on my ass and I had to trot
off. As well as all the other miseries of having to
run in such an unnatural way, I now had a further
problem - I could feel something trickling down the
inside of my thighs - it could only be his semen, I
knew, trickling gently out of my asshole. I never
felt more humiliated in my life, and knew I had been
totally violated by the stable master.
When we got back to the stables, the stable master
came around and stood looking at me as I remained
there totally immobile.
"Well, Steve, you're not only a proper man now, but
you took it like real men do - bareback, as we say.
Without one of those disgusting condom things. You
don't know how lucky you are - most guys in the
civilised world now have to have sex with their cocks
covered in a layer of latex. It completely removes
most of the sensation for the guy doing the fucking,
and the guy being fucked doesn't get to feel the
delicious warmth of the cock pushing up into him.
And, of course, both of them don't get to experience
that fantastic feeling as the semen shoots out."
"We're very fortunate here, as all you ponies are
considered to be part of the Sheikh's leisure
activities. So all of you are carefully screened for
AIDS and all the other STDs before you join the
stables. You're a disease-free pool of slaves, and so
the masters can use you as they like, without risk or
danger."
"Now, let's get you out of that yoke, showered, and
then you can do your daily exercises!"
He shouted commands, and the stable lads came and
uncoupled me, took the yoke off, and led me off to the
showers.
Each of the next five days was like this - a long,
hard run in the trap with the stable master driving
me, a stop in some shady place where he fucked me, and
then a run back to the stables with his seed running
out from me. I got used to it - the runs were longer
and faster each time, and he varied the way he fucked
me, too. Some times it was gentle, some times rough
and vigorous, and of course he also took the
opportunity of using me in some of the more brutal
ways that men can - I particularly disliked it when he
withdrew from me completely on each stroke, and then
rammed his cock in fresh: that really hurt, and I
didn't then see how anyone could enjoy it - well, at
least it wasn't enjoyable for me, on the receiving
end, although judging by the way he was shouting as he
thrust home each time, it was pleasing him!.
On the sixth day I was yoked into he trap as usual,
waiting out side the stables, but instead of the
stable master getting into the trap and driving me
off, we all just waited. After about a quarter of an
hour, the Sheikh came out and started to discuss me
with the stable master.
"I think you'll be pleased with the pony's progress,
Highness. There's nowhere on the estate that you
can't run him to now, non-stop. And he's very willing
- only the gentlest slaps of the reins, or a very
light whipping, are necessary to keep him going at
full tilt. His muscles have relaxed in this past
week, and as you can see, he's standing much more
comfortably now with his feet properly on the ground."
"Good, Stable Master. And has he been properly
drained?"
"Nor formally, Highness. I think that like most of
the ponies he masturbates himself on first waking with
his morning hard-on. But our standard regime for pony
care does not normally include forced draining."
I heard the Sheikh say "Hmmmm....", thoughtfully, and
then felt a finger - which I assumed to be his -
probing between my ass cheeks as he had before. When
it touched my asshole I didn't flinch this time - I'd
got used to being fingered and fucked by the stable
master, so one more finger there was no longer a
problem to me.
"Altogether calmer, Stable Master. I remember he
tried to buck away from me last time I wanted to
examine his anus."
Then I felt my balls being weighed - they were being
cupped in the palm of the Sheikh's hand. And then
something completely new - I tingling, itchy, scratchy
sensation as the Sheikh ran his finger nail along the
sensitive area between my asshole and ball sac. In
spite of myself, I felt an erection growing, and the
Sheikh's hands soon detected this, too.
"Well, either this pony is very virile, Stable Master,
or he didn't masturbate himself this morning. I don't
want to go on a run with the possibility of him having
an erection and shooting in an unseemly way - how
embarrassing it would be for me if I were to meet one
of my friends, and this animal were to have a sexual
climax. Have him drained now, before we start."
"Of course, Highness", the stable master replied, and
he snapped out orders.
One of the naked stable lads - he couldn't have been
more than 16, although with all his hair shaved off it
was difficult to tell, but he was sporting a good
hard erection so I knew he must be fully sexually
mature - came out of the stables and at once threw
himself on the ground under my naked body. He reached
up, and I felt his mouth close over my cock!
Now I've had blow jobs from my girl friends in the
past, but another man has never had his mouth around
my cock. The girls were always a bit reluctant to do
this for me, but this young lad clearly enjoyed it as
he was sucking away at me like a Trojan! And he was
clearly very experienced, because in addition to
taking my cock in and out rhythmically, he was also
catching my flange very gently on his teeth which
dramatically heightened the sensation for me, and
running his tongue over my exposed piss-slit, which
was causing me to shiver with ecstasy.
I really didn't want to cum - it's OK to be given a
blow job when you want one, but to have it done to you
in public, totally against your will, is just another
form of rape. But shackled completely immobile as I
was, what could I do? I guess I could have kicked out
at the naked lad with my feet, but how would that
help? They'd only restrain me more, and probably
punish the lad, too. He was, after all, only obeying
his master's orders, as a slave should.
In spite of myself, I felt my climax building, then I
shot explosively into his mouth. All my girl friends
had been disgusted by this, as they'd always wanted me
to pull out before I came. But this lad seemed to
actually enjoy my cum, and kept on sucking and
massaging my cock with his lips. Like most guys, my
cock is incredibly sensitive the moment I've cum, and
when I'm wanking myself I always stop after the first
shoot and just let the remaining smaller loads dribble
out. But as the lad went on sucking, I felt the
heightened sensation in my cock head- that feeling
that is so strong and so sensual that it almost
crosses the border between extreme pleasure and
extreme pain.
In spite of myself I tried to buck to get away from
his insistent lips, and I moaned and groaned in
ecstasy as h continued to suck me dry.
"Very instructive, Stable Master", I heard the Sheikh
say. "This pony is obviously highly sexed and very
sensual - do you see how he reacted when the slave
continued to suck at him?"
"Yes, Highness. Although I wouldn't consider that
unusual. Bear in mind the pony is only 22, so his
body has only just passed the peak of his sexual
maturity. And in his society, he probably doesn't
even consider himself completely 'mature' yet. So as
he's probably been a bit repressed and didn't start
sex very early, for him this is almost certainly his
peak time emotionally. And, as we know, a whole lot
of sex is inside the head. He's probably doubly
excited by being sucked by another man like this, with
us watching - for many of the newly enslaved, this is
a real turn on all by itself."
"You may be right, Stable Master. But I can't stand
here all day now - I need to try this pony out
properly."
I felt the shafts move, and then settle as the Sheikh
clearly took his seat in the trap, and then an
insistent tugging at my finger from the reins and a
sharp slap across my ass told me to start off.
Unlike the stable master, who varied the pace at which
I needed to run, the Sheikh had only one idea of the
speed I should go at - flat out! I was soon beyond
mere tiredness, and the aching from my legs and the
pain from my chest as my breath rasped the hot, dry
air in and out was indescribable. But as athletes do,
I went "beyond the barrier", and it was as if my body
switched to some sort of automatic mode that enabled
me to carry on pumping my legs along the rough dirt
roads of the estate.
I was almost unaware of it when the reins first pulled
both my fingers back to indicate "halt", and the
Sheikh had to tug twice, hard, before I snapped back
to reality and stopped.
My whole body was heaving, as my chest rose up and
down as I tried to get enough oxygen into me. And I
was covered in sweat, all over, in spite of it rapidly
evaporating in the dry air. I saw that we had stopped
alongside one of the estate carts - it was piled high
with sacks of something or other, and the eight
ponies, naked except for their "waistcoats" of chains
permanently welded on to them were straining and
sweating with their efforts to keep it moving. A
young lad - totally naked, and totally shaved, was
moving alongside and "encouraging" them to keep going
with shouts and lashes of the whip he carried.
The Sheikh called out something - he wasn't using
English now, so I supposed it was Arabic. Clearly the
young lad understood him, because he went up to the
two lead ponies and unhooked the drag chain from the
ring on the back of their "waistcoats" so they were
standing free. They came towards me, and then were
out of sight behind me.
But then I felt the shafts move, and the next minute
the hot feeling of another naked body being pressed
against my ass! My ass cheeks were roughly pulled
apart, and then I felt that hot feeling against my
asshole that tells you that there's a cock waiting to
enter. I almost didn't have time to react and do what
I had learned from the Stable Master and consciously
relax, before the cock was roughly pushed into me.
It was obviously one of the huge, beefy ponies from
the cart was fucking me. Having observed them in the
stables I could see they had all been chosen as a
"type" - stocky, heavily muscled, and extremely well
built. That went for their cocks, too, and although
the stable master had a good thick cock, it was
nothing like this slave's! It really did hurt as he
pushed into me, and it was all I could do to stop
myself crying out.
He fucked me hard - slamming into my ass with his body
time after time, until he exploded inside me.
He obviously wanted to rest then, but there was more
shouting and I could feel him pull out from me. But
now there was another cock going into me - it must be
the second pony, I knew.
The other six were still attached to the cart, but I
could tell they were excited by what they were
watching - they were all playing with their cocks,
which were rock hard, and they were obviously hoping
to be allowed to come over and fuck me, too.
In fact the Sheikh did get a third pony over, so I
took three massive loads of cum. But I suspect he
must have tired of the game, as the three were
re-shackled to the cart and with a snap of the reins,
I was made to run off.
We got back o the stables, and the Sheikh
congratulated the Stable Master on my progress "so
far". I was uncoupled, and allowed to shower whilst
the Stable Master watched me carefully.
"So, Steve", he said as I stood there in the showers.
"Your education continues! I understand you've now
had three other men up your ass - you do know, don't
you, that four men in total is more than a lot of guys
experience in a lifetime! In fact, some unfortunates
never get to experience the feeling of a big, stiff
cock rammed up into them at all. If those enslavers
hadn't chosen you in response to the Sheikh's
requirements, you might have spent your whole life
without experiencing the pleasure of your fellow men."
Well, I could see what he meant. Although I wasn't at
that point sure that "pleasure" was exactly how I
would describe the brutal gang fuck I had experienced
just a few minutes before.
That night in the stables my stall was opposite the
one occupied by the cart team. They saw me, and
whistled and called to attract my attention. The
three who had fucked me were grinning and making that
gesture with their hands and arms that means "fuck
you!". And the other five were wanking themselves and
clearly indicating that they wanted me! But I decided
there was nothing cruel in all of this - they were
just trying to be friendly. I'd seen how they all
fucked each other all the time, so it was normal for
them to enjoy another man's body, and probably thought
that I did, too. And in any case, they were only
obeying the Sheikh's orders - what else were they
supposed to do when he commanded them to fuck me?
The next day the Sheikh again took me out, and again I
was run "through the barrier", and I only saw what was
happening when we again stopped near the cart and its
sweating team of eight ponies. This time the Sheikh
didn't tire, and the five remaining men who hadn't had
me the previous day now had their turn to shoot up me.
On the third day, as I stood out side the stables
wondering how many more men were going to fuck me - I
was really sore, as most of those big ponies didn't
care how they used me - they were in a hurry, and knew
they had to shoot their loads quickly so there was not
time for gentleness, even if that's how they might
have wanted to do it. I guess there's something in
being a huge beefy guy that means you fulfil the
world's expectation of you anyway - no one thinks a
big guy can be gentle, so they act out the stereotype
and are rough and tough anyway.
But it seemed as if I was going to be spared. The
Sheikh and Stable Master stood there discussing me,
and at first I didn't know what they ere talking
about.
"I don't really want the traditional place, Stable
Master. With this new method of attaching him to the
trap, his ass is completely exposed in the way I want.
Having those wonderfully muscular ass cheeks held
high and firm like that, it seems a pity to spoil them
with asymmetry."
"Indeed, Highness. But all the other ponies in your
stable are always marked on the left...."
" Yes, I know. But not this one. The ass and thighs
are to be kept clear. As I'm driving, they are
directly in front of me and I enjoy seeing them
'natural'."
"How about on his back, then Highness? Although you
do see it stretched out in front of you, it's not at
the same angle as the ass..."
"No. I like to see his backbone, and I think the
symmetry would be spoiled. It will have to be
somewhere on the front."
"So that leaves us the face, neck, pectorals....."
"Are you being stupid, Stable Master? The neck is
hidden when he's yoked. If we choose the face, there
could be a problem if I decide to have the yoke fitted
with a spike to cause him to hold his head up - I'm
happy at the moment to have him looking down, but I'm
not sure it will be that way for ever, as it might
amuse me to have him under the extra strain of having
to keep his head up to avoid a spike pushing into his
throat."
"I'm not totally in favour of the pecs either. If I
have him ringed later, it can introduce a degree of
asymmetry."
"So, Highness, we're left with the lower chest, the
belly, or, as an interesting variation, the front of
the thighs?"
"No, Stable Master, not the front of the thighs. I've
had them done there before, and it looks wrong if I
ever decide to use him as a normal pony. Interesting,
isn't it, but you can have one ass cheek done, as we
do conventionally, and it doesn't upset the natural
balance of the body, but the front of one thigh causes
it to look all wrong! And I don't like the lower
chest - it can make the slave look as if he's wearing
one of those horrible medallions you see working-class
men wearing on the beach. So I think that means the
belly - make sure it's centred between the cock and
navel, properly!"
"Yes, Highness, as ever your wishes will be obeyed."
"And whilst we're at it, have his balls ringed."
What were they talking about - all this discussion of
"marking"? But I heard "ringed" - what could they
mean? I'd once bought one of those gay magazines, by
accident, and I'd seen a guy in there wearing a cock
ring. The article hinted that it made it easier to
maintain an erection - but I'd never had a problem
with that myself, so I couldn't see the point of it.
But what was a ball ring?
The Sheikh went away, and the Stable Master called for
the stable lads to come and unhitch me.
"Well, Steve, no running for you today, and no
fucking. But before you start to celebrate, I'm
afraid you're in for worse. The Sheikh has just
decided on where you're to be branded, and he wants
your balls ringed with a cinch ring, too."
"That's good in one way, as he's decided to keep you.
If he was planning to sell you on, he wouldn't have
ordered the branding as that's so permanent that it
destroys your resale value. And whilst you may think
the Sheikh is a cruel master, you have no real idea
of how brutally some masters can treat their slaves,
so it's good news for you in the long term."
I was led off into the tack room, and made to crouch
down and shit into one of the crap holes. I couldn't
go - it wasn't my regular "time" (with regular feeding
at a fixed time, with exactly the same slave food all
the time, my bowel function had become amazingly
regular, too).
The Stable Master stood watching, and when it was
obvious nothing was going to happen, said to me "Are
you sure there's nothing up there?"
I nodded.
"Well, there's two things we can do now. Either we
can give you an enema to flush you out completely, or
I can trust you.... Something is going to happen to
you that's so painful that many slaves let their
bowels go quite involuntarily. It makes a disgusting
mess, so we like them to be empty before they start.
But if you're sure, and if you think you can keep your
body under control.... Do you think you can hold your
crap in, whatever happens to you?"
I nodded again.
"Very well. But if you fail me, I will wait until the
Sheikh is gone on a nice long trip and will then
really whip that lovely back and ass of yours that
he's so fond of - I'll flail it with a proper bull
whip, so it takes weeks to recover. Do you
understand?"
I nodded once more.
I won't tell you about how bad it was to be branded -
memory plays funny tricks, and I can only clearly
remember being taken to one of the tables in the tack
room and being strapped down completely immobile - my
arms and legs shackled to the four table legs, and big
heavy webbing straps around my navel and thighs, that
were then ratcheted tight to make sure I was
absolutely unable to move my belly. To make it worse,
a wooden cylinder about eight inches in diameter had
been slipped under my lower back first, just above the
top of my ass crack, so my belly was stretched out
hard and taught. But after that, things were a bit
hazy. I saw the Stable Master take an instrument that
looked a bit like a potato masher, except that where
the holes were to do the mashing, there was an
intricate design. A slave bought him in one of those
portable gas burners, and he stood there, looking at
me impassively, as the end of the instrument was
heated in the flame, going first from red and then to
a dull white glow.
"OK, Steve, ready?" He asked.
But before I could nod or anything, he had pushed the
white-hot thing down onto my belly.
There was no way I could avoid screaming. I tried to
get away from the fearsome thing, but the straps kept
me completely immobile. He held it there, and my nose
filled with the acrid smell of burning flesh - and I
knew it was my body that was being burned.
I passed out, mercifully.
And I don't remember much of the next couple of days-
I was allowed to lie in my cell, and all I could think
about as the pain that filled my entire being. I
could see my belly was filled with scar tissue and
blisters, and there was nothing I could do - I guessed
that they knew I would try to scratch the scabs, or
something, so in addition to being chained by the neck
as usual, my hands were cuffed behind my back - but
not tightly, just so that there was no way that I
could get to my belly.
On the third day I was released, and taken to the tack
room again. The Stable Master was standing there, and
came over and inspected me carefully.
"Good, Steve! You kept your word, and didn't crap all
over us! And you're obviously a strong guy, as the
wound is healing well. You mustn't scratch at it or
touch it, however, as the blisters and scabs must fall
off naturally. That way the brand will have the
sharp, defined edges that the Sheikh likes."
"You will, of course, carry the Sheikh's mark for
life, showing the world that you are his property.
There's absolutely no way of removing a deep brand
like that - it's scarred right through into the
underlying layers of the skin. "
"You are particularly unfortunate to have been branded
on the belly, as I think that is the most painful
place. We normally brand the left asses of our
ponies, and that is not quite as bad as there are
fewer nerve endings there, and a lot more muscle to
take the brand. But the Sheikh didn't want the
perfection of the back of your body spoiled... So
there you are!"
"Now, you've lazed around for two days, and we don't
want you going off form. So it's off to the gym and
the exercise yard for you this morning. It will hurt
like crazy as you start to stretch those abdominal
muscles, but it has to be done: you have to keep in
training, and anyway, it will help to get the scabs
off quicker. So be brave.. I know you can do it!"
He was right - it did hurt like hell. And it did the
next day, and the next day, too! But by day five the
scabs had fallen away and there below my navel and
above my cock was a circle scarred into my flesh four
inches in diameter, with two stylised Arabic
characters inside it. I couldn't help looking down
and seeing it - can you imagine what it feels like to
be marked like that? It really brought it home to me,
even more than being humiliatingly yoked in to the
Sheikh's trap, that I was not a man any more, I was
just an object, completely subject to the Sheikh's
will and whim.
I thought I was going back into the yoke the following
day, but one more thing was in store for me. In the
tack room again I was made to lie across one of the
tables, and spread my legs. The Stable Master and
another man in Arabic dress were there, and the Stable
Master and he were discussing me.
"My master the Sheikh wants his balls cinched. And to
match his trap, the ring is to be of stainless steel."
"But Stable Master, a slave with a cock like this
one's would look so much better with his whole
apparatus tightly ringed- imagine seeing him running
naked with his cock jutting firmly out in front of him
- you know how the total ringing pushes the balls up.
And the cock then is forced out in front. Surely that
would be better?"
"No. Just the balls. This slave never runs upright
anyway, only bent over. So even if his cock were
sticking out, and if it was erect all the time, no one
would really see. We only see his balls handing down
from behind, and that's why the Sheikh wants those
ringed."
"But stainless steel... Surely gold would be more
appropriate for a slave of this calibre and
quality...?"
"No, as I said, stainless steel to match his trap.
Now no more discussion. Just do it!"
The Stable Master then addressed me "This won't hurt,
Steve, provided you fully co-operate. The jeweller
has to stretch your balls down low into their sac, but
the actual fitting of the ring is painless. I know a
young man's balls are especially sensitive, so if it
gets too much during the stretching, just cry out...
But I'll rely on you not to do so unless you really
can't hold out. The Sheikh your master likes them
sitting really low in your sac, so we do have to
stretch you hard.... OK?"
I nodded. As usual, it was what the Sheikh wanted,
and nothing to do with my needs or desires. I was
going to be "stretched" and "cinched" for the Sheikh's
pleasure, whether I liked it or not.
The jeweller was obviously experienced at this,
because as he grasped my testicles firmly and started
to pull them down, he did it with a slow, steady
pressure. There was none of that feeling of retching
or sickness you get if someone treats your balls
roughly - sure, the relentless pressure was
unpleasant, and I'd rather not have another man handle
me in that way, but, given all the circumstances, it
was quite a humane process.
When I felt as if I was at the limit of what I could
bear and was about to cry out, I think the jeweller
knew it, too, because he asked the Stable Master to
come and hold me in the stretched position.
"Just cup your thumb and forefinger around the sac
above my hands", I heard him tell the Stable Master,
"Then pull them down towards my hands, Then I can let
go, and we won't lose all this stretch we have in him,
Be very careful not to let go - once you've
stretched a slave's balls like this, if they're
allowed to relax they disappear up into the body
cavity for at least 15 minutes, and it's the very
devil to get them stretched again!"
Obviously the process went OK, because the next thing
I felt was something going around my sac. And then I
saw the jeweller go around me with a big pair of
pliers with long handles. There was a lot of
fiddling, and then a final "Great - done!"
The Stable Master told me to stand up, and as I did so
my testicles felt very strange- you don't usually feel
your testicles, after all, unless they're in pain from
an unexpected blow or something. But I definitely
"knew" mine were there!
"So, Steve, you're ringed now! When you get around
to inspecting it, you'll see there's a stainless steel
band around he top of your sac, so both of your balls
are squeezed down into the bottom. At this moment,
the skin of your sac is stretched very tight, but over
the next few days that will ease a little. You will
be in pain, for two reasons: firstly, your balls are
used to being able to go up and down in your sac and
into your body cavity. They can't now do that, as
they can't get past the ring - that's why we call it a
cinch ring - and until they get used to it, they'll
complain! And secondly, having both balls in the very
bottom of your sac and a relatively heavy steel ring
above them changes the shape and swing geometry of
your balls - as you run, you'll find your balls will
slap into you thighs, and that'll hurt, too! But
again, you'll get used to it, the body will
accommodate it, and after week or so you'll feel as
if your balls have always been like that."
"You'll still be able to jerk off and there should be
just as much cum as usual, as you'll be pleased to
know that the general operation of the balls is not
affected by any of this. It's purely cosmetic, to
give the Sheikh something more interesting to look at
between your legs - so you should be grateful he
didn't decide to have you gelded (although that's not
very likely with a high-priced slave like you,
especially as I think he's going to breed from you)".
He was right - that night, I could hardly sleep as my
balls were so sore. And when I had to run the next
day, it felt very different to have my balls hanging
so low. And they swung very differently with the
heavy metal ring on them, as the Stable Master had
predicted. The Sheikh and the Stable Master stood
there before I set off admiring the view - the Sheikh
very much liked seeing the stainless steel ring above
my balls between my thighs.
By way of variation that day the Sheikh had me stop
alongside his carriage that was being pulled by the
two long-legged totally smooth jet-black blacks who
were themselves out on an exercise run. Their fucking
of me as the Sheikh watched was mercifully almost
painless- although they had long cocks to go with
their tall bodies, they were not as thick and meaty as
the cart ponies and so they slipped easily up me -
although they did shoot very big loads! It's funny
how some guys are totally prejudiced against black men
- believe me, if you can't see what's going on,
there's no way that you can actually tell whether it's
a white man, a black, or whatever, who's fucking you!
I always knew now when I was due to pull the Sheikh
and when I was just going on a training run with the
Stable Master - once yoked, if it was to be the
Sheikh, one of the stable lads always came out and
sucked me off just before the Sheikh appeared. The
Stable Master didn't bother as, he said, he really
didn't care whether a pony had a hard-on or not, or
whether the pony actually ever shot a load.
So life went on. I was at the point where it was all
routine - the estate was of such a size that I could
run anywhere across it at full tilt without incredible
pain. And I was used to being fucked, whether for the
Sheikh's amusement by whatever pony we stopped by, or
just as a recreational exercise by the Stable Master.
One day, as I was showering after a long run with the
Sheikh driving me, I looked at myself. There was no
doubt I was healthy - I'd always been fit, but the
constant forced exercises coupled with what was
obviously a healthy diet had made me even fitter. I
was literally glowing with good health, and the deep,
all over tan I had suited me - the tiny hairs on my
arms and legs were all bleached almost white, and set
off the dark brown of my skin perfectly. I rather
liked the trimmed pubic hair and crisp short haircut
that was maintained on me by the stable lads. But I
couldn't help seeing how I was now definitely no
longer a free man - the Sheikh's ownership brand stood
out on the ridges of my stomach, and underneath my
cock, the stainless steel ball cinch ring glinted. As
I washed my ass I was amazed at how normal it now felt
to be fingering my asshole - before I was a slave, I'd
never even touched it, and now I was used to being
fingered there constantly. And, of course, I had
experienced being fucked constantly and humiliatingly
once I was yoked into the shafts.
One day was really exactly like another - the routine
never varied. There was no difference between days of
the week, and the weather almost never varied so there
was no sense of the seasons. Without any form of
writing, I couldn't keep a count of the days of my
slavery; I couldn't even scratch marks on the walls
of my stall, as I was put into a different stall
almost every night.
But one morning there was a change in routine. As I
was being unlocked from my tethering chain in my
stall, the Stable Master came up - still in his
singlet and tight shorts, which was the only thing I
had ever seen him wear - and said "Congratulations,
Steve, it's your anniversary today!"
I wondered what he was talking about, as I didn't
think it felt like my birthday, but he continued "It's
exactly a year since the Sheikh acquired title to you,
and we call this your anniversary. He is extremely
pleased with your progress, and thinks he made a wise
choice in commissioning your enslavement and then in
his ongoing training programme for you. He's so
pleased in fact that he's decided to breed from you."
"You're probably not aware of it, but the price of
slaves is far outstripping inflation - everyone likes
to own men for their pleasure. And the supply is
drying up as it gets harder and harder to snatch
good-looking men from civilised countries. Of course
there's a constant supply of blacks and Asians, but
handsome European stock is increasingly rare and
expensive. We had thought the problems in Eastern
Europe would help alleviate the problem as there would
be more mid-Europeans available, but the settlement of
the Bosnian troubles has meant all those countries are
returning to normal, too. So the Sheikh has decided
to make a long term investment in the future - he has
set up his own stock farm, with a hundred brood mares.
And he has them inseminated with seed from his finest
ponies and pleasure slaves."
"From now on, there will be no more sucking off for
you out in the yard, and your hands will be tethered
at night, too, as we don't want you masturbating and
wasting all that cum! Did you jerk yourself off this
morning?"
I shook my head - I'd thought about it when I'd woken
with my morning hard on, but had fallen asleep again
before getting around to it.
"Good. So now's as good a time to start as any.
Follow me to the breeding shed!"
We went out of the stables and across the yard, and
into a building I'd never been in before. It was like
the stables, in that it was lined on both sides with
stalls, but each one held a naked woman. As I walked
along the passage between the stalls, the women all
called out at me - I couldn't understand everything
that was said, as they were all speaking different
languages, but I could tell they were all commenting
on my body. I'd been used by now to being naked in
front of men, of course, but having to walk naked
through all these naked women aroused too many
memories of my former life and I had a giant erection,
which caused the women to laugh and catcall even more.
We went on in to a room at the end, and I was told to
sit on a table. A man in a short white coat came in
and shook hands briefly with the Stable Master. Then
he came over to me and told me to raise my foot - and
he copied my slave ID number on to a form he was
holding.
"The Sheikh's fanatical about record keeping", he
explained to the Stable Master. "He wants to know who
each of the brood mares is pregnant by, how many times
she had to be impregnated, and so on. And then, when
the pregnancy is two months on and we can test for the
sex of the baby, he demands to know how many of them
have to be aborted as they're girls, and which of the
slaves has the greatest propensity to father boys. But
his primary interest is in seeing how well the
characteristics of the father carry onto the boys that
are born."
"I can see why he wants to breed from this one -
magnificent body, with those very long legs, and a
natural blond! If he sires children who are half as
good as he is, the Sheikh will stand to make a
handsome profit a few years down the line when the
offspring can be sold on."
"Right, you!", he continued, looking at me, "Jerk
yourself off. And be sure to catch every drop of
ejaculate in this dish."
I was given a small laboratory dish, and sat there,
holding it. The man and the Stable Master laughed at
me.. "You didn't think you were going to fuck the
mares yourself did you?", the man said.
"It would be terribly wasteful, as one lot of your
ejaculate can impregnate ten of them using AI
techniques, whereas if you had to do it physically,
we'd be here all morning! Come on, get jerking."
"And anyway", the Stable Master cut in, "Who'd want to
stand and watch you fuck a woman? Absolutely
disgusting. I can't understand why people pay to go
to see sex shows with men fucking women."
I was so used to obeying orders now that I started to
jerk off - I'd got used to doing it in semi-public in
my stall with other ponies across the corridor
watching me, but this felt worse: it wasn't just for
my pleasure, but my spunk was actually going to be
used to father children. Somehow this was different,
and I blushed. But it didn't make any difference to
my performance - my cock sprang to erection, and I
soon shot one of my normal big loads into the dish.
The man in the white coat looked at it, and told the
Stable Master that was all for today. I was led back
out, towards the stables, and I really felt bad as
there was still a drop of semen hanging from the tip
of my cock as I had to make my way past all the women
again.
That night, as well as being chained by the neck, my
hands were loosely cuffed behind my back which made
sleeping more difficult, and for the next four weeks I
repeated the humiliating walk and jerking-off every
day.
The Sheikh seemed to disappear from the scene shortly
after this, and I was exercised by the Stable Master
every day. There was no more fucking of me by the
other ponies, as the Stable Master liked to do this
himself, but generally only every second or third day.
I was expecting to be fucked when we stopped one
afternoon, as it was about the third day since he had
last had me. We were in a shady glade, and there was
one of the artificial ponds with which the Sheikh had
had dug around the estate to beautify it in front of
us. The Stable Master stripped of f his shorts and
singlet, and dived into the pond - I could only stand
there, desperately hot, and watch as his magnificently
muscled body powered up and down the pool.
He came out, and stood by me, the water steaming off
him in the dry air. Then he sat down on the grass,
naked, like me. Had I not been yoked into the
carriage, you would not have been able to tell who was
the pony slave and who was the Stable Master - I
speculated on how long each day he had to spend
keeping his body in good shape, and how he managed to
find the time, given all the duties he had in running
the stable, exercising me, and so on.
"Steve", he said, "You know I've always told you
what's going on. It's nice that I can chat to you
like this, even though it's very one-sided. I like to
use my English, as having to work mostly in Arabic I
find myself tending to forget it."
"I've been exercising you like this for the past weeks
as the Sheikh is on an extended trip - he's travelling
the world, inspecting the different types of men
available in the countries, and negotiating personally
with slavers for more stock."
"He's buying in a lot of new slaves, as the prices are
continuing to rise, as I told you. And at the same
time he's hugely expanding his breeding programme -
that's one of the reasons for getting in more slaves,
as he's going for men who have already sired large
families, in an attempt to get he breeding rate up -
not that you have anything to worry about, as you are
a very successful sire. Your semen almost always
results in a pregnancy first time, and you tend to
have a high proportion of boys - the Sheikh is very
pleased indeed. It won't be long now before we start
to see a lot of 'little Steves' running around in the
nursery compound."
"And I like to think I can trust you. You've always
kept your word before when I have asked you to do
something.... I remember how you passed out when you
were branded, but you didn't let your bowels go, as
you'd promised not to."
"So would you like to swim? I will release you from
the yoke if you tell me you will get back in again
when I command. I suppose there's not much risk, as
we're still miles from anywhere and you'd be certain
to be captured before nightfall, but it would be
messy. But if you say you will be re-yoked when told,
I will let you out. Agreed?"
I nodded, vigorously. I knew he was right about being
recaptured, and had long since decided that escape
from the remote estate in the middle of the desert was
impossible. I even thought that we were only chained
up each night to emphasise our slavery, rather than
for any real practical purpose.
So he came and released the catches holding my yoke to
the shafts, then, when I had stood up, the yoke itself
was released and I could do my customary big
stretches.
"Off you go then, into the water!", he said, and I ran
and plunged in. God, did it feel good! I'd always
liked swimming, but had not been in a pool since my
enslavement. And swimming totally naked is the best
of all - you can hardly ever do that in England, but
once or twice, on deserted beaches whilst on holiday,
I had managed it. The water flowing past your
unrestricted cock and balls is so much better than
having them confined in swimming trunks!
He then came in again, and we raced up and down in
friendly races, and then sat in a shallow part and
splashed each other. We looked just like two very
good friends, indulging in friendly rivalry in the way
that men do when there's any athletic competition. If
it wasn't for the brand on my belly, a passer by would
not have known I was a slave.
"Time to go", he said after I had swum again, and we
both got out. I walked over to the trap, and waited
for me to come and yoke me in to it.
"No.... First, it's time for your fuck", he said.
"Lie down, on your back."
I did as I was told, then he said "Lift your legs up,
grasp your ankles and pull them back towards your
head. I want free access to that asshole of yours!"
Now of course I was used to being fucked by the stable
master when yoked and totally unable to resist, but
this was different - all my limbs were free, and I
could easily prevent him from going in me. I never
wanted him to fuck me really, as I'm not like that -
so here was my chance to make him desist. So what did
I do? Well, I just lay there, and felt humiliated all
over again as I bowed to the inevitability of my being
fucked.
I soon realised that there was were big differences
about being taken from behind when you're immobile and
can't do anything about it, and can't even see, and
the position I was now in. For one thing, I could see
his face as he smiled as he started to ease himself
into my ass. And then, as he thrust home, I found it
was more painful than usual - with my legs right back
like that, his big cock reached up even higher inside
me.
I saw his body pistoning in any out, and the different
emotions that came across his face as my he continued
to fuck me, then the look of sheer ecstasy as he
started to spurt inside me.
He collapsed forwards on to me so we were chest to
chest, and, as if by reflex, my body knew what it
ought to do - I let go of my ankles, and gripped my
legs tightly around his waist. His moans of pleasure
from having cum redoubled as I did this, and I knew it
must be pleasing him. In fact, I actually really
enjoyed feeling him gripped by me like this - as I
said, some reflex took over, and perhaps that's how
it's meant to be when one man is fucking another.
Then something happened that had never happened to me
before - he reached his head forward, and kissed me.
His lips locked onto mine, and I could feel his tongue
trying to force its way between them. I've never been
kissed by a man, and never wanted to be, so I stayed
absolutely still. He drew away, then snapped at me
"Open your mouth, Steve!"
I knew I was beaten, that I was a slave. A slave who
had to obey a master, and so I did. He returned and
pressed his lips to mine, and now his tongue was
inside me, licking and probing, and playing with mine.
All of a sudden I didn't care that I had been ordered
to take him - I liked it. I responded, by squeezing
him tighter with my legs, and putting my arms around
his body, too, so that his chest was pressed even more
tightly into mine.
We kissed and kissed, moving the directions of our
heads, and both moaning softly as our tongues enjoyed
that second most intimate sensation of coupling that
men can have together.
But he broke off eventually, and raised himself off
me, on his elbows.
"Sorry, Steve, but I've got to get back. You know,
for a supposedly straight guy, you surely do kiss
another man well!"
I suppose there's no difference really - I'd just
concentrated on the pleasures of being kissed, and had
simply forgotten that it was a man doing it to me, and
not a woman.
During our afternoons he introduced me to other
aspects of manly love, too. One afternoon he released
me from the shafts but kept my yoke on so my hands
were immobile. Telling me to lie on my back as usual,
he then knelt, pressing his knees down onto the yoke,
so that his cock was hovering above my mouth.
"You've never beef face fucked, have you, Steve?"
I shook my head.
"Right - open your mouth!"
I hated having his cock in my mouth, and it was
terrible when he started to thrust away so it went up
and down my throat. I was gagging and struggling for
air, so he stopped and said
"Steve, calm down! You can take it down your throat
if you don't panic. Control that reflex, man, don't
fight it! Do you think it's any fun for me to have
you gagging on my cock - I want to feel it sliding
over your tongue, and butting into the back of your
throat. So stop acting selfishly, and let me have my
pleasure."
I did try, and I suppose it was better. But I hated
it when he shot his load into my mouth. I'd never
even tasted my own cum before - like a lot of guys I
had shot into the palm of my hand and smelled it, but
the smell nauseated me and I hadn't gone on to lap it
up. Now I had no choice, and my whole mouth and
throat were coated with his slimy semen - although as
we all know its one of those things where the smell
and the taste are different. I still don't much fancy
the smell, but the taste and texture combination is
not actually unpleasant at all.
Whilst the Sheikh continued to be away, our afternoon
excursions became a regular feature. He always
allowed me to swim, and our fucking and kissing became
even more intense and long-lasting. But I was never
allowed to cum myself, as he was insistent that he
wouldn't break faith with the Sheikh and allow any of
my seed to be wasted: I was still having to
masturbate myself in the breeding shed each morning,
although I had long since ceased to be embarrassed by
the cries and catcalls of the naked women as I walked
there to my appointment.,
Of course the Sheikh did come back from his buying
trip, and my life resumed its normal pattern -
sometime being driven unmercilessly hard by the
Sheikh, with often a random fucking from whatever
other slave we came across during the afternoon, and
on other days a more leisurely drive with the Stable
Master, usually with a bout of real man to man
passion.
I can't say that the Sheikh's new attachment method
really caught on - very few other masters seemed to
adopt it. Although the Sheikh never tired of
promoting it, and I remember one occasion
particularly. I had been yoked, then driven up the
ramp of a large truck which proceeded to drive for an
hour or so. When I was unloaded, we were at a race
course where all the local bigwigs had brought their
racing ponies for a speed trial. Of course the
Sheikh's own racing ponies were there, being driven by
the stable lads as they were lighter than the Sheikh,
and so he had brought me to pull him around the course
from place to place, as he exchanged pleasantries with
his fellows.
Most of them had conventionally harnessed ponies, in
all shapes and sizes - singles, couples, four in
hands, whites, blacks, pairs of whites and pairs of
blacks, shaved, hairy, naked, wearing tiny pouches -
the variety of things that masters seemed to do with
their ponies was almost endless.
The masters all sat in their traps to watch their
ponies racing, and it was a sight as the naked men
charged down the half-mile course with their riders
whipping them on to even greater efforts. There was
obviously a lot of betting going on, as there would be
when a lot of rich men gather at any race track, and
some of the races were "selling races", where the
slaves who had been entered were auctioned off at the
end.
The Sheikh never tired of pointing out to his fellows
what a superior method of attachment I displayed - he
could see over my back and had a perfect view of the
course whereas the others had some of their view
blocked by their upright ponies. And when he wanted
refreshments, he served them to his guests using my
horizontal back as a picnic table. I could feel the
coldness of the crystal champagne glasses on my naked
flesh.
Time went on, and I had almost completely forgotten my
old life in England. The combination of the routine,
the strict prohibition on my using language, and the
lack of activity in my life other than exercise and
work, all combined to emphasise my position as a
slave, not as a man. The only real way that I was
aware of time was the fact that the Stable Master told
me of each of my "anniversaries", and five years
passed almost without my noticing it.
But my fifth anniversary was different. I suppose it
was unusual that the Stable Master himself came to
unchain me that morning, as it was generally one of
the stable lads. And I wasn't taken to masturbate in
the breeding shed. My washing and grooming seemed to
take longer than usual and my balls, ass and face were
shaved even though it was not in the usual three-day
schedule for this.
The Stable Master then came along and told me to
follow him, and we crossed the yard and went into the
palace itself. I'd never been in there before, and it
felt really strange to have cool marble under my feet
rather than the concrete, or dirt, that I was used to
in the stables and on the estate.
We went along corridors, then up a magnificent flight
of marble stairs. All my old embarrassment at
nakedness came back - you'd think that after five
years I'd be used to being nude, but that was
"outside". Here, "inside", in a "normal" building, I
wasn't used to being naked - especially not as all the
other people we saw were not. They hardly looked at
me, however, and it was as if they were used to seeing
naked slaves amongst them.
We crossed a hall way, and then I was walking on
carpet! Carpet - can you imagine how that feels under
your naked feet, when you've experienced nothing soft
for five years?
Giant double doors opened and we were in a large room,
with a throne at the far end on which sat the Sheikh.
We made our way across it, and stopped in front of
him.
"This is the slave, Highness. He was your first pony
on which you worked out the new attachment strategy
five years ago. He has worked hard and faithfully
since, and his record in your breeding programme is
excellent - a high percentage of fertilisations first
time, a high proportion of sons, and a good rate of
transfer of his primary characteristics into his
offspring."
The Sheikh looked me up and down for a moment, and
said "I understand your needs, Stable Master, but I'm
not certain I can do without this pony. He is, as you
say, excellent in every way."
"Highness, you now hardly use him at all as your
current favourite is the big black-haired German who
was enslaved a couple of months ago. I really do
desperately need help...."
"Oh very well, Stable Master."
Turning to me, he said "Slave..."
I stood there dumbly
"Slave...." His voice was rising in anger.
"Highness... The slave has been taught never to
speak."
"Oh, of course. Well, slave, the Stable Master has
been very eloquent in your cause. He says he needs
help to run the stables, and only you will do. So I
am going to give you limited freedom. You are no
longer a pony slave, but a free man, like my Stable
Master. But of course you may never leave this
country, and may only move off my estate here with my
express permission. Otherwise you are free - you can
fuck whatever slaves you want to, and can only be
fucked when you freely agree to it with your partner.
I shall be sad to lose your mandatory participation in
my breeding programme, but you will be welcome to make
voluntary - shall we say - donations of your seed....
Perhaps once a moth, if I make my self clear?"
He went on "Well, what do you say? You're no longer
a slave, and may answer."
I had almost forgotten how to do it, but with a s
supreme effort, I managed to croak out "Yes, Highness.
Thank you."
The Stable Master then whispered in my ear "You
should now approach the Sheikh, and kiss his cock in a
gesture of obedience, even though you're free. Say
the proper words as you do so - 'I freely show my
allegiance to your body, highness, by this token kiss
given freely as a free man'."
So I went forward, and knelt in front of the Sheikh.
He parted his robes, and I saw a big cock nestling
there. I very gently picked it up so that its head
was facing towards me, and saying the words exactly as
the Stable Master had given them to me, touched it to
my lips.
"Excellent!", the Sheikh said. "I can see you're
going to be as good a free man as you were a slave.
Go now and start your new life, and I will see you
again shortly in less formal surroundings."
We went out, and outside the door the Stable Master
gave me a singlet and pair of silk shorts just like
his own. He watched as I pulled them on, there in the
hall way. It felt incredibly strange to be clothed
for the first time in five years... I couldn't get
used to the way that the fabric, even though it was
incredibly light, chafed against my body.
He led me off down more passages and corridors, and we
stopped before a door. Taking out a key, he unlocked
it and led me in to what looked exactly like a
conventional hotel room - big double bed, TV on a
chest, bathroom to the right.
"This is your new room, Steve. This is where you live
now."
I felt the carpet under my feet, then threw myself
experimentally onto the bed, remembering how these
bounced! So different from the heap of straw I had
become used to.
"So aren't you going to say 'thank you', then?"
I stumbled over the words... "Thank you.... Stable
Mas...."
"No! We'll be working together - you call me Ray now:
that's my name."
"Thank you then, Ray..."
"So aren't you going to show your gratitude more
obviously - I seem to remember from those afternoons
together that you like kissing....."
Of course! Now I was free, I could do what I liked.
And I really wanted Ray at that moment. So I went
over to him, threw my arms around him and kissed him
deeply. We stood there for minutes rocking backwards
and forwards as we gripped each other's bodies and
felt each other ecstatically. I don't know who pulled
the other's shorts off first, or who ripped who's
singlet, but we were soon both totally naked, kissing
passionately, and with our two erect cocks stabbing at
each other as we tried to get our bodies even closer
together.
I fell back on the bed, and Ray started to move
between my legs as he had done so many times before
after he had unyoked me on one of our runs. But I
wanted more - I wanted to be in control.
I was five years younger than him, and in spite of his
gym-toned muscles, I was much stronger from the real
work I did. So I rolled him onto his back, and there
was little he could do about it. Then I thrust my
cock towards his ass, and for the first time ever felt
the warm moistness of another man start to surround
me.
I could hear him groaning as I continued to keep my
tongue deep down his throat, then pushed harder and
harder until I had penetrated his ass completely. I
soon found out that the same movements I had used to
fuck my girl friends very effectively pushed my cock
in and out of his ass, and the excitement of this
caused me to cum almost immediately.
I then drew away from him, and looked down. He was
smiling!
"Ah, Steve! Fantastic! I was worried that after five
years of being fucked, you'd be a total 'bottom'. But
you're a 'top', too, like me. That's fantastic, mate
- two men can have much more fun if they can decide
each time who's going to give and who's going to take"
"Ray... Look... I don't know what came over me. I
just wanted to fuck you... To hurt you, even... To pay
you back for what you did to me."
"Don't worry, Steve - it didn't hurt! I usually have
one of the pleasure slaves in here and they're chosen
for their cock size, so having your monster up me
didn't hurt at all. And I don't think you really did
it for revenge... I think your natural instincts as a
man, a man who likes sex, simply took over and you
wanted to fuck whatever was in sight. We all feel
randy like that from time to time, and whilst you can
fuck almost everything you see here around on the
estate, you'll soon learn that fucking a friend
voluntarily is miles better than fucking a slave by
force. Well, at least most of the time it is -
there's almost nothing to compare with the first time
you take a new slave, especially one who thinks as
himself as 'straight'!"
"So I'll leave you now to explore...."
"No, don't leave me, Ray. What am I going to do in
here? I feel scared - I'm not used to all these
things... "
"The phone's there. Call room service when you want
to eat, or if you want a slave sent up. There are
clothes in the drawers - because of our semi-free
status - yes, I was a slave, too, once, and was freed
by the Sheikh's father - I tend to wear only a minimum
of clothing so that real free men don't feel
threatened. So I have only got you singlets and
shorts like mine. But if you want anything else, just
order if from room service."
"No.... Can't I come with you, and see what you do?"
"Well, I've finished for the day, and was going back
to my own quarters.... But come along, if you like."
So we went out of my room, and along corridors and out
to the stables. Ray had a small suite there - a big
bedroom, luxurious bathroom, small plunge pool in a
secluded courtyard, and a sitting room. He showed it
all to me, and said how convenient it was to be so
close to the stables - he could be in there in
seconds, if there were any problems.
I shut him up finally by kissing him again, then we
fell onto his bed. This was my first real experience
of mutual man to man sex - he didn't force himself on
to me, and I didn't force myself on to him. We both
took our time exploring each other's bodies, and
kissed, sucked and then fucked each other time after
time. We fell asleep in each other's arms, and only
awoke the next morning when it was time for work -
"morning call" at the stables!
That was the first night I spent with Ray, and I've
never moved out - we share those same quarters today.
I learned that my job was to help Ray with all aspects
of pony and stable management - selecting suitable
slaves for ponies in the first place, their training
in whatever style of use they were to be put, their
regular exercise and maintenance, and the control and
management of the young stable lads. The expansion of
the Sheikh's holdings was more than Ray could mange
himself, and he didn't want standards to fall.
But as we lay in bed that first morning and I was due
to start work, I told Ray of my fears.
"I just don't know enough about it. I don't know how
to select slaves, I don't know how to look after
ponies, I...."
"Stop, Steve! Come on now, you've lived in the
stables for five years. You know all about how
they're run...."
"Yes, Ray. But I've only ever run in the 'new
method', I've no idea about racing ponies, pairs,
those four carriage horses, or even about how the cart
ponies operate - except for their readiness to fuck
anything in sight!"
"You'll soon pick it up."
"No.... I need something more. I tell you what - let
me do a sort of 'management training', I'll spend a
week as an upright pony, then a week with the cart
ponies...."
"You're mad, Steve."
"No, seriously, Ray. It couldn't be worse than doing
what I have been for the past five years."
I wouldn't be persuaded, in spite of what Ray said, so
instead of dressing again in the singlet and shorts, I
followed Ray into the stables just as if I was a pony
again.
It was hard being a "normal" upright pony, as all my
muscles were tuned to running bent over. But I had
good lung capacity, and so I could run without my
breath giving out. But I had pretty bad cramp in the
night, and muscle ache the following day. I had to
act just like an upright pony, however, and that
included getting a pretty severe whipping from one of
the Sheikh's friends who hadn't understood that I
wasn't used to running upright and who therefore
thought I was just lazy when I did not go as fast as
he wanted!
But my week with the cart ponies was sheer
unadulterated pleasure! I wore a leather harness, as
it wasn't worth having me welded into a steel one
permanently, and I didn't have the power they had when
it came to hauling the heavy cart up hills and so on.
So I got a lot of lashes of "encouragement". But I
did discover the real pleasure of proper team working
- all those ponies worked together as if they were a
single co-ordinated unit. And overnight, they were
just like brothers - every one fucked every one else,
and it was absolutely joyous to roll over from
experiencing one team mate to find another one waiting
to start playing with you.
But at the end of these weeks my "proper life" had to
begin, and I started to help Ray out. Amazingly, in
spite of Ray's help during the day and his love at
night, I started to sleep badly. I even had a
cramping pain in my stomach one night. At first, Ray
said this was the change from slave food o a "regular"
diet, but when the problems went on, he got worried so
he sent me to see the Sheikh's doctor.
A whole battery of tests revealed nothing. But as we
were lying in each other's arms one night, with his
hand companionably cupping my cock, Ray said "Steve, I
think that pain in your stomach is worry. You're not
used to stress any longer, and the responsibilities of
your new job are getting to you."
"People just don't realise what a good life slaves
have - especially if you work for a good man like the
Sheikh. You got regular exercise, the best possible
food for the work you had to do, but you had
absolutely no stress. You had to make no decisions,
didn't have to ask for anything, or argue with
anyone... Your whole life was mapped out for you by
someone else. That's why our slaves stay so
relatively young looking, and are rarely ill - they
have no worries, and no problems. You had no money
worries, nothing."
"Think of how you would be if you'd been at work in
England for the last five years - you'd have worried
about unemployment, worried about whether you were
satisfying your girlfriend, worried about whether you
could afford the mortgage on the tiny flat you'd have
had to buy as you needed somewhere to live, worried
about your boss, worried....."
"All that worry. And you'd probably have moved out
from 'doing' training into 'managing training', so
your body would have lost its tone. And you'd
secretly remember how you used to be, a magnificent
male animal, and worry about that, too, as your belly
slackened and your waist started to expand."
"I think you're just catching up - after this
stress-free, responsibility-free life, the things
we're asking you to do now are too much."
"But it can be good - look at me! I'm five years
older than you, but I'm still in good shape. And
I've learned how to manage the work properly - that's
one of the reasons why I had an assistant. So now we
know what the problem is, we'll fix it."
"But how, Ray?"
"By me supervising you properly until you build your
confidence. So all the responsibility is mine, and
you can just carry out orders until you feel you
really understand what's what. So stop worrying...
Come here and kiss me...."
And he took his hand off my cock, turned towards me
and folded me in his arms. I just sort of knew that
things would be all right from then on.
And indeed they were - after a few weeks, I started to
enjoy taking a trap out by myself and exercising the
ponies properly. And when it came to making sure they
were exercised in the gym, there was nothing you could
teach me! Of course it was irksome having to wear
those tiny shorts and that singlet every day, but once
we were "home", Ray and I always went totally nude so
that our bodies were accessible to each other totally
as we watched TV, or ate dinner.
What a strange irony, I thought. I'd done my degree
in sports centre management, but I doubted that any of
my lecturers would have thought that the lessons I
learned there were now being put to use in such
unusual surroundings.
The only thing that Ray and I really argues about was
the subject of fucking new ponies. He reminded me
that he had treated me gently in my early days, and
how good that was for me. But I just couldn't bring
myself to rape any of the new ponies - however gently.
But Ray persisted, telling me it was my job, and how
much kinder it was for the young slaves to be taken by
a caring trainer than to have their first experience
of a cock from one of the cart slaves. I was
persuaded by his arguments, and after the first one or
two, began to look forward to the arrival of new
ponies - there is indeed something special about the
first time you take a man up the ass, especially when
he's protesting and trying to stop you.
Ray had wanted me to have my ball ring removed on my
first day of freedom, but I had resisted. And I'm
glad - I'd got used to running with it on, and,
frankly, I think it looks nice - even Ray tells me it
adds a touch of the exotic as he strokes my balls
sometimes. And the Sheikh loves it.
That, I think, was the biggest surprise of all.
During all my time a s a pony, the Sheikh had never
fucked me. I assumed he didn't like fucking men, just
seeing them humiliated by being force fucked by
others. But shortly after he had given me my freedom
he was off travelling again, and only returned after I
had gained a lot more confidence.
Instead of eating dinner together as usual one night,
Ray told me to hop in the shower with him and we
showered again, and dressed in fresh singlets and
shorts.
"The Sheikh has invited us over for dinner", Ray told
me. "I think you'll be surprised!"
So we went over to the place, and through all the
formal "official" rooms on the ground floor and up the
sweeping staircase, along a couple of passages, to a
heavy door. Ray pressed a button on a standard
intercom box on the door, and I saw a TV camera swivel
to look at us, before there was that "click" you get
of an automatic door opener, and we could go in.
There was the Sheikh, dressed casually in jeans and a
T - I'd only ever seen him in "Arab" robes before.
"Sorry for the delay, boys", he said, "But I look
after my own security in this heavily fortified wing.
I don't want to have all the bother of armed guards
and so on."
"Hi, Ray", he continued. "And you of course are the
famous Steve! I really do miss you as my pony, you
know. I think I'll always remember you as you were
the first to use my new method."
I grinned at him and said something lame like "Yes,
Highness, they always say you remember the first...",
in the way that someone had said it to me five years
ago.
"No, Steve! Here in private, you can drop the
'highness' bit. I'm just a regular guy, about to hang
out with my buddies, and in here I'm Ahmed."
I started to mutter something in embarrassment, but he
took me by the arm and said
"Look, I know this is going to be difficult, as you
still think of yourself deep down as my slave. But
we're going to be good buddies - and I mean really
close, good buddies. Stop being scared of me... I
don't bite, you know.....!"
He stopped for a moment and with a little laugh said
"Well, that's not QUITE true! Ray will testify that I
do in fact bite - he's often a bit embarrassed by the
hickeys on his neck after one of our sessions. But
let's cut to the chase, as they say, come on through."
He turned and walked through into what I saw was a
bedroom, peeling off his T as he went. As soon as he
stopped he unbuttoned the jeans, and shrugged them to
the floor - he was naked, as he had nothing on under
them. I saw he had a nice body for an older guy,
especially one who did not do hard physical labour.
And he was very hairy - a thick coat of wiry black
hair was almost all over him.
Ray had stripped off as he came in, and I saw that I
should do the same.
And then I found out I still had a lot to learn about
fucking, and being fucked! There are more things that
three fit, enthusiastic men can do together than two
pairs of men can do individually. I found, for
example, that it takes quite a lot of practice -
practice that's a lot of fun in itself - before three
guys can "sandwich" properly. I could fuck Ray, and
Ahmed could fuck me, but trying to do both at the same
time so Ahmed pulled back from me as I pulled back
from Ray.... Well, I guess you guys know all about
that.
Whilst he was in residence, we "played" together
almost every night. As I lay there with him sucking
at my left tit one night, I reached out and pulled
Ahmed's head up off me.
"Hey, if you're so keen on my body now, how come you
never had me when I was your slave?", I asked.
"Oh, come on, Steve! Don't be so stupid! You weren't
a slave - not like the pleasure slaves who I keep here
in the palace for when I do want a fuck and there are
no free men around. You were a pony slave! I could
no more consider fucking a pony slave than I would
consider fucking a real pony!"
"Of course I liked your body - I was very tempted on
many occasions. And hadn't I specified exactly what I
was looking for to the enslavers in the first
instance, so you were exactly my type... But it just
wouldn't be right to fuck someone who was pulling my
trap. Of course I enjoyed seeing you humiliated by
being worked over by all those others - who wouldn't
enjoy a spectacle like that? But I certainly couldn't
do it myself, in the circumstances. It was actually
very frustrating for me."
"In fact, although I heard Ray's arguments about
needing an assistant, the real reason I gave you your
freedom was so that I could have you in my bed!
That's also the reason why I persuaded my late father
to give Ray his freedom some years ago."
Ray laughed. "You know, Ahmed, it's funny really.
Who's the slave here? You're the big boss, but you
still can't do what you like with the slaves... So in
a way, you're just as much a slave as they are!"
Ahmed was going to start arguing, but I didn't want to
hear it, so I pushed his face back onto my tit - and
he gave me a sharp nip with his teeth that caused me
to cry out and arch my back... Which set Ray off.....
And we moved onto more pleasurable pursuits!
Well, that's about my life so far. You'll have to
wait for the rest, if you ever get around to these
parts again. But don't count on meeting up, as I
don't think I'll have too much time in the near
future, though: as Ahmed has scored a real coup that
will drive all the other Sheikhs around here mad with
envy. He's managed to get a pair of identical twins,
and their father! The twins were at college in the
USA on a football scholarship, and their father was a
player himself before retiring and going in to
coaching. The twins are absolutely identical - I
can't tell them apart - and Ray and I are wondering if
we should have them branded on opposite ass cheeks, so
we can call them "lefty" and "righty". And when you
see all three naked together, the family resemblance
is so strong. Ahmed has tasked Ray and me to find
some really new way of showing all three off to their
best advantage, together, and it's a real problem. But
we're working on it!
Author's note:
So there you have it, readers! The guy I met may or
may not have been Steve. He may or may not have been
telling the truth. He was young, and very virile as I
can testify. The marks on his stomach that had first
caused me to talk to him could certainly have been as
a result of branding. He was very long-legged.
If it was Steve, and the story is true, then he seems
to have fallen on his feet. He laughed a lot during
our time together, and was completely self-assured.
He seemed to have a love for life that only comes from
an inner happiness, and I can only hope that one day I
will bump into him again. I really would like to know
about that father and his twin sons.
THE END